The Doomsday Men

' ‘ 5 ''^- N''..

Cb£y

Whi^

-f- j"''t C?%'?’''*'S^-i^ii..K'-

RttfCK '"'t Xs'^' 'rfh

/• ; > j \ ' ^ I

f\\N^ ^

€'...< i

'V 'H^

^-='>j[S^ ^z -~

<■'7 '• 'c' ^^'\V.^'''’

‘ ■'/' ' V ^Vvi'.'V/'''

~ V <,C.

::: ? Z - *

rX**

/•A -“- .l‘y

A'>>-

- :*'••' -N^

y-^

= - o'"i5^', -

'^?>'''7:X''"-'^ WbV?

'(•w'' : -, '; xi -Q%i g- •s.'i'i

“ ■>. '•'*'• j».l ” 1 * ' / ^ Dnuow Bvj j rrtEsilB.u

' ■'- *•'*“'''0 8 »

'•;{'.v,'A<es:v,y.,„ '

', . j-s'S? -~

\c'' •' '-'■'.^V':

z’

^ ^ /,

''t" ' ' I V

%W

lUy v''"’ 'V ^ M

util

SK.'S^a

r^N'/ xv

BAKER'^r^C^

- — .^ '/IKy

>j

'';?' %y 'I"."

c

':!//iy\'.!l:f.'

U/j ' '' 'a 7 ^

k-O

O ' > _ r t w\ > -w

"" •2--

?r

-j'''V -r

-^■^v -^4'’

■{V'

V

yi/l

C.T'y

. \\irsN^"Ay<2-.
•' crr"^

y ''^r'" ,

''/OJIK

6.®

.Camp’s

wcTjiwarqa

Rashtrapati Bhavan
New Delhi

Accn< No-
Call No.

/o

VW fc) -P

t

THE

DOOMSDAY MEN

OO iiOXJSE

NEW DELHI.

Aide-de-Oamp’s Libi ary

BY J* B. PRIESTLEY

FICTION

THEY WALK IN THE CITY
FARAWAY
ANGEL PAVEMENT
THE GOOD COMPANIONS

PLAYS

I HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE
TIME AND THE CONWAYS
PEOPLE AT SEA
BEES ON THE BOAT DECK
DUET IN FLOODLIGHT

MISCELLANEOUS

MIDNIGHT ON THE DESERT
ENGLISH JOURNEY
FOUR-IN‘HAND
I FOR ONE

talking; an essay

OPEN HOUSE
APES AND ANGELS
SELF-SELECTED ESSAYS

WONDER HERO

BENIGHTED

ADAM IN MOONSHINE

CORNELIUS
EDEN END

DANGEROUS CORNER
LABURNUM GROVE
THE ROUNDABOUT

THE BALCONINNY

THE ENGLISH COMIC CHARACTERS

MEREDITH (e.M.L.)

PEACOCK (b.M.L.)

THE ENGLISH NOVEL
HUMOUR (e. HERITAGE SERIES)
BRIEF DIVERSIONS

THE

DOOMSDAY MEN

AN ADVENTURE

BY

J. B. PRIESTLEY

WILLIAM HEINEMANN LTD

LONDON TORONTO

FIRST PUBLISHED 193 8

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE WINDMILL PRESS
KINGSWOOD, SURREY

To

DOROTHY BROOKE

Dorothy, I must begin

By warning you: here’s fantasie,

A fairy-tale in Western rig
(For a wet night in some country inn)
Which please accept in memory
Of Jane and me, Grahame and Fig,

Of desert, mountains and blue air.

The canyons, camps and buffalo steak.

The maestro-works you crayoned there.
The nonsense that we’d find— or make.
(Sometimes I thought there seemed to be
Not five but six: as if we’d share
Our laughter and the heart’s quick shake
Of joy with one we could not see).

As through the desert hills we’d go
And bounced inside that dusty car,

I cast us in this puppet show
And made each puppet bravely shine;
Though you, I think, are braver far
Than these adventurers of mine;

And being wise as well you’ll know
The idle tale is not quite all.

As children playing games may throw
Strange threatening shadows on the wall;

In such a world could I do less?

So here, it’s yours. Good night, God bless!

#

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 1

II THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR g 1

III THE ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN'S

BROTHER 65

IV THEY MEET AT BARSTOW . . 102

V BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR.

EDLIN ...... 128

VI OUTSIDE THE GATE . . . . l62

VII TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER . I 99

Vm ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET . , 229

DC THE THREE DESTROYERS . . . 256

X DOOMSDAY— AND AFTERWARDS - 293

#

CHAPTER ONE

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS

*

I T was the last day of the Tennis Tournament
at Beaulieu, on the French Riviera. The late
winter afternon was fine, with plenty of brilliant
sunshine, but as usual there was an undercurrent of
cold, even of impending frost, beneath the surface
of sunlight, giving the golden afternoon an unreal,
theatrical quality. The little stand on the centre
court was crowded with those people— the rich and
the entertainers of the rich— who appear to be living
a zestful and glittering life of pleasure in their
photographs in the illustrated papers, and who so
often are as dull, fretful, bored, as the other people
who stare with envy at those photographs. They
were not bored now, however, for the final of the
Mixed Doubles had just begun, and it was a good
match. On one side were Grendel, that long-haired,
temperamental Czech, who would sometimes double-
fault himself out of a game and then at other times
hurl thunderbolt services like a maddened Jupiter;
and Madame Tissot, a squat and powerful young
Frenchwoman, as calculating as if every point cost a
hundred francs, an icy terrible female to see across
a net. The other pair presented a very different
appearance. Malcolm Darbyshire was English, and
slim, fair, good-looking, an Englishman of the more
expensive films. He was not like most of the
finalists, a tennis amateur who spent as much time

2

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

playing as most professionals; he did not go from
tournament to tournament, and his life was not
bounded by Wimbledon and Forest Hills; he had no
official rating from the Lawn Tennis Association;
but instead had a profession— that of architect— and
actually worked at it. But he was a good player, no
doubt about that, and was playing well now,
though he and his partner were in danger of losing
this first set. She appeared on the blackboard as
Andrea Baker, though nobody there could say
whether this was her real name or not, for she was
even more of a dark horse than Malcolm Darbyshire.
But unlike many of the women players present, she
did not look like a horse. She was a dark, golden-
skinned American girl, a beauty, who was playing a
quick sure game, darting like a great bird from the
base-line to the net; and yet with something puzzling
about her, not merely because she was an unknown
who ought somehow to be well-known, but also
because there was something about her oddly untrue
to type. She ought by this time, after a week of
play on those courts, to have been alight, all fire and
energy and enthusiasm, with eyes like caverns filled
with smoke and flame. It was all wrong. This girl
was no blonde champion of the world, and had no
excuse for wearing a j>oker-face. Who was she that
she should look so composed, almost sleepily com-
posed, almost listless, except when actually playing
the ball? Some of the spectators, who were not all
fools, wondered about her. She had been the
mystery girl of the Tournament. Throughout she
had played her matches, and then promptly dis-
appeared, a large car, driven by a little brown
chauffeur, taking her away. She appeared to have

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 3

no friends; she was obviously rich, and an American,
young and a beauty, and a good tennis player, and
yet she merely played, made a polite remark or two,
nodded, smiled faintly, and then disappeared. No
lemon-squash or cocktails in the bar of the Bristol
Hotel; no dancing nor dashes at night to the Casino
at Monte Carlo; no moonlit kisses, no fun; she
hurried into the extravagantly large car every day
and vanished. So players and spectators alike had
announced, in five different languages, that this was
a very odd girl.

Malcolm Darbyshire had been telling himself this
all the week. Now, when he ought to have been
concentrating entirely on the match they w'ere
losing, he was still worrying about her. As her
partner from the first day, when they were brought
together because neither of them had arranged to
have a partner in the Mixed, he ought to have known
more about her than anybody there, but he knew no
more than the rest did, and had been compelled,
rather reluctantly, to say so a good many times. But
whereas they were still merely curious, he was
worried. This was their last day. In an hour or so she
would disappear into that confounded car again, and
this time disappear perhaps for ever. And now he
did not want her to disappear. He wanted to knowall
about her, not merely where she came from and
where she had played before, but every little thing
about her; and in exchange for her confidences he
had a great desire to tell her all about himself, how
he had decided to drop out of first-class tennis
because he was really keen on his profession, how
he had just secured a very junior partnership in a
good London firm of architects and had been

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

4

allowed to submit designs in minor competitions,
had already had a hand in the building of a Council
School, a church, and a small country house, and
what he thought about politics, novels, music, food,
drink, tobacco, travel, clothes, his two uncles, his
sister’s husband and a thousand other things. Not
for years, perhaps never before, had he felt so strong
a desire to impart these confidences to a girl, or to
listen at any length to any confessions she might
like to make. He was twenty-eight; his tennis and
good looks had taken him round a bit; he felt a
mature sceptical male; and yet now, instead of enjoy-
ing this hideously expensive, tennis-playing holi^y,
snatched from the winter as a reward for an extra
spell of hard work, he was spending most of the day
and half the night thinking about this Andrea
Baker girl, who might have been the Venus de Milo
in shorts for all the response he had from her. True,
she now answered his smiles of approval, which he
felt were developing in their despair into idiotic
broad grins, with tiny reluctant smiles of her own;
and she had admitted that it was a nice day again
or that they might have a hard match; but he was
as far away from any possible exchange of con-
fidences, any rapturous midnight confessions, as he
had been a week ago. Now he found himself alter-
nating between being angry with her and with him-
self, for being such a chump, and behaving like a
neglected spaniel, an unpleasant role and one not
easy to sustain on a public tennis court. Damn her
eyes! And what eyes too!

They lost the first set, by two games to six, and
Malcolm felt that it had been his fault. Not enough
good tennis, and too many glances across at his

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 5

partner to see if at this last minute she was coming
to life. That is, coming to life as a girl, not as a
tennis partner, for she was playing better than he
was.

“Sorry, my fault!” he said, during the break and
the buzz of talk from the stand.

She nodded, not reproachfully. “We’ve time.
Grendel isn’t so tough. He’s going to tire soon.”

This burst of conversation from her, about the
longest she had given him, filled him with delight.
“Yes, Grendel soon tires, though he can come up
again at times. But that Tissot woman is terrible.
She’s all steel and rubber. We’ll never wear her
down. But we’ll snatch this set, and then wear
Grendel out.” He could have gone on in this vein,
but she nodded again, as if to dismiss him, and now
they had to open the second set. It was Malcolm’s
service, and he put into it all his feeling of angry
frustration. Twice he aced Madame Tissot;
Grendel sent one flying out, and his other return, a
more cautious drive, was cut short by Andrea with
a neat little stop volley, one of her favourite shots.
“But the trouble is,” Malcolm said to himself, with
a certain gloomy satisfaction, “she’s stop-volleyed
me too.”

With the first game against him, Grendel now
squared his massive shoulders, swept back his drip-
ping mane of hair, and launched his thunderbolts,
making it game all. The next game went to the
Anglo-American pair, for Andrea served accurately,
if not very fast, and Malcolm was able to kill three
returns at the net. Madame Tissot lost her service,
chiefly because her opponents directed their returns
away from the mighty Grendel at the net, sending

6

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

them short as well as obliquely, and though the
Frenchwoman was like Verdun itself when she was
on the base-line, she did not move quickly up to
the net. Malcolm served again, with the set three-
one in their favour, and again got the game, but
only after a long struggle. Grendel now entered one
of his berserk spells, went roaring about the court,
served and smashed as if the fate of Prague depended
upon him, and won his own service and Andrea’s
as well, making the score only four-three in favour
of the Anglo-American partnership. It was now that
Malcolm began lobbing against Grendel, to wear
out that giant. It was a dangerous policy, for
Grendel’s smash was terrific and he could hurl his
two hundred jxjund bulk up into the air, to cut
short a lob, like an over-size ballet dancer; but it
was worth trying, especially as Grendel now began
to sweep back his wet mane every minute or so, and
his heavy breathing could be heard across the court.
That game, with Madame Tissot serving, the lob-
bing did not work, for Grendel jumped and smashed
down the first lob Malcolm sent him, and ran back
and returned the second with a piercing forehand
drive that almost knocked the racket out of Andrea’s
hand. Four all. Malcolm’s service. But this time,
instead of serving hard to Grendel, he gave him two
slow soft ones, both of which Grendel bungled; but
he served as hard as he could against Madame Tissot,
who would have had no mercy upon any soft stuff.
Five-four, and now Grendel’s service. Grendel made
all the usual preparations for going berserk, and it
looked as if his flashing racket would be murderous
in its service; and so it was for the first two services,
which could hardly be seen; but then, tiring rapidly.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 7

he double-faulted twice, making the game thirty-all,
followed that by wildly driving a return of Andrea’s
out of court, and finally smashed a lob of Malcolm’s
into the net. So the second set went to Baker-
Darbyshire at six-four, making the match set-all.

Before they began the final set. Miss Andrea
Baker, now an entrancing figure of warm gold,
nearly came to life. She looked at Malcolm with
those astonishing eyes, in which there was now just
the faintest trace of warmth— as if at least a match
or two had been struck somewhere in those caverns,
even if no fires had yet been lighted— and said to
him, in what amounted with her to tones of the most
delicious intimacy: “Can we do it, Mr. Darbyshire?’’
His name too, though of course with the chill Mister
attached to it! She was almost human.

“Yes, we can do it. Concentrate on Madame
Tissot. Either smack ’em hard at her, or drop ’em
short— she can’t run. And I’m going to keep on
lobbing Grendel. I know it’s risky, but I’ll have him
running miles, and he’s tiring fast. We’ll pull it off
all right.’’ He sounded more confident than he felt,
but, dash it, when the girl was coming to life, right
at the last minute, he couldn’t appear dubious. He
gave her his broadest, friendliest grin yet.

Then she did a curious thing, which he was never
to forget. The little light there was died out of her
face, not leaving it composed, reserved, almost
frozen, as it had been so often, but giving it an un-
expected air of melancholy, almost wistful sadness;
and she looked around, taking in all the court, the
stand and the thin line of spectators at each side,
the other courts, the hotel, the hills and the
mountains beyond, the whole landscape, it seemed.

8

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

the whole fading and chilling gold of the afternoon,
just as if she were looking at all these things for the
last time; and then she turned to him, as if at last
in this moment he was a real person to her, and said
quietly, rather sadly: “I’d give anything to win this
match. I don’t think there’ll be another for me.’’

Now that she had said something personal to him,
he could only stare and stutter, for he was completely
taken by surprise, by dismay, too, a score of fantastic
tragic speculations about her leaping into his mind
and conflicting there. What on earth did she mean?
And why, after being so frozen, was she suddenly, at
this place and time, not only coming to life, but
being disturbingly tragic about it? And whatever it
was, he was sure, there was no affectation there. She
was not talking for effect. On the contrary, she was
giving him a glimpse, the merest hint, of her real
self, which she had kept so carefully tucked away.
And now of course there was no time even to ask a
sensible question. The umpire was calling from his
high chair; the spectators were settling down, and
turning curious glances their way; the final set must
be played.

But he had time to look her straight in the eyes—
and what eyes!— and mutter with awkward sincerity:
“It’s all right. We’ll do it.’’

That final set was the best game of tennis Malcolm
Darbyshire ever played. He stopped worrying about
the girl now, and concentrated entirely upon the
game. Grendel and Madame Tissot were no longer
two pleasant fellow-creatures, with whom he had ex-
changed cigarettes and stories and cold drinks in the
Bristol; they were menacing monsters, one small,
female, cold, infinitely omning, the other a man-

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 9

eating giant, roaring destruction and doom. The
court was the whole world, and the adventures ot
the great white balls upon it were his whole destiny.
He sent fast top-spinning drives to Madame Tissot’s
feet, and killed the slow half-volleys she returned.
Grendel he lobbed, and went on lobbing, sometimes
chasing the giant’s tremendous smashes far out of
court; and did not even hear the applause that
followed him. He served with a fierce despair, as if
trying to turn himself into another giant, and he
banged away hell-for-leather at Grendehs terrific
services, sometimes throwing the point away, but at
others scoring glorious winners. But most of the
time— and it was not ordinary time but the years of
an epic struggle— Grendel seemed to be smashing
and he seemed to be lobbing. Andrea was playing
well, but she had not the cold, almost venomous con-
centration of the Frenchwoman; and Malcolm could
not pretend to equal Grendel’s colossal strength.
They arrived at five-all, and it was anybody’s match.

The eleventh game of the set brought the service
back to Malcolm, and as he went to the service line,
he suddenly realised that he was almost done. After
all, he had been working hard, mostly indoors at
the office, during these last two months, with the fog
and sleet of London about him, and not, like most
of these people, keeping himself in good trim at
other tournaments. And this was the last day of a
week’s intensive play, in a climate that had been
a sharp change, not altogether agreeable in its sudden
alternations of warm afternoons and cold nights.
Every joint seemed to sag and ache. He tried to
deliver two fast services, but he winced as he
brought his racket down over the ball, and both

B

lO THE DOOMSDAY MEN

went into the net. His partner gave him a sharp
glance as she crossed over. Next service— another
fault. This wouldn’t do. He sent a safe slow second
one, and of course it was promptly annihilated.
Love-thirty— and this a key-game. He took his time
crossing over, then sent across a medium-pace service
towards the centre. It was returned quickly as he
was running in, and he gave a despairing scoop at
it, to find, to his astonishment, that he had achieved
a beautiful little half-volley that Tissot could not
reach in time. Then the next point was theirs, for
Grendel drove hard into the net. Thirty-all. Now
Malcolm tried a fairly fast slice service, which went
curving away, so that it was hit out. The next re-
turn was neatly volleyed by Andrea, far out of the
Frenchwoman’s reach. 'The game was theirs, making
the set six-five.

It was Grendel’s service, and this was clearly to be
his last and most terrible effort. Rather painfully,
he drew himself up to his full height, sent ball and
racket flashing in the sky, and produced an ace. He
went across, taking his time and shaking the per-
spiration off him like a dog just out of the water,
and then delighted the stand once more by pro-
ducing another terrific ace. But now his next service
was a fault; the second, much slower, was returned;
Tissot drove deeply and Grendel came roaring up
to the net; Malcolm lobbed high, but Grendel
jumped back and smashed, but Malcolm lobbed
again, there was another smash, again Malcolm
lobbed, and this time Grendel fumbled and lost the
point. Again his first service was a fault, and again
the much slower second was returned; and this time
Andrea won a short but sharp duel of drives against

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 1 1

the Frenchwoman. Grendel tried to mate it forty-
thirty by another ace, but lost the point with a
double-fault. Set point, in favour of the Anglo-
American pair. Grendel got his first service in, but
it was returned, and now the ball flew across the net
from a series of hard drives, which ended with a
stupendous forehand drive from Grendel. Malcolm
just succeeded in putting his racket to it, and the ball
went high above the net. Grendel smashed, and
Malcolm ran achingly after it and retrieved it with
another lob. This time Grendel could not reach it,
but Madame Tissot did, with a fairly slow dropping
drive. Malcolm rushed forward, despairingly
slammed his racket at the ball, heard in wonder and
delight the deep grunt of the strings that told him
he had hit the ball fairly and squarely, and then saw
it shoot, a perfect drive-volley, between his oppo-
nents, to give him game, set, and match.

There was the usual clapping, hand-shaking,
towelling and muffling up, congratulations and snap-
shots, but Malcolm saw and heard it all as if in a
dream. After that final stroke of his, when the
match was over and won, for one dazzling second the
strange Andrea Baker had come to life. With eyes
like lamps, she had put out a hand, and said, in her
agreeable deep American voice, now a little choky
and breathless: "Thanks a whole lot, partner. You
were grand.” That was all, but it was, as this
mysterious girl said, a whole lot.

Now, with the match over, the whole afternoon
fading, that horribly cold wind of the Riviera chill-
ing everything, he had only one desire, and that was
to prevent this girl from vanishing for ever. He must
see her again, and probably there was only this night

12

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

for it. He carried this determination through the
confusion and congratulations that followed the end
of the match. He saw her exchange a few remarks,
and then go to change. The car, the large fateful
mysterious car, was already waiting, with the little
brown chaufiFeur, to take her away for ever. He dare
not go and change himself, for fear he might miss
her. Shivering a little and horribly anxious, he hung
about, dodging acquaintances, and putting ofiE those
he could not dodge with the briefest replies. Doubt-
fully, he rehearsed speeches, and could not help feel-
ing a fool. The girl had had a few good games of
tennis with him; they had contrived to win the
Mixed Doubles; and that was that. She had shown
no real interest in his existence. She liked tennis, not
young architects from London who happened to play
pretty well. She had her own life— though he could
not possibly imagine what it was, probably some-
thing distant, immensely rich, very American— and
had shown not the least desire to share even half
an hour of it with him, oft the tennis courts. She
was not only self-possessed but also self-sufficient,
it seemed. Where did he come in? But then, just
when he was deciding he did not come in at all, he
remembered the look she had given everything, the
way she had turned to him, the odd sudden sadness,
her strange tone and equally strange remark. So he
gradually edged nearer the car, now parked in front
of the hotel.

She seemed faintly surprised, but not displeased,
to find him waiting there. But she looked still more
remote, out of her tennis clothes, a very haughty
dark beauty indeed, and it took him a moment to
find a voice. “I was wondering,” he stammered, not

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS Ig

using any of the rehearsed appeals, “if you were
going to the dance to-night.”

She shook her head, and surveyed him calmly,
making him feel as if there was nothing else he could
possibly say to her. “No,” she replied, with an awful
finality, “I’m through here now.”

“I’m not going either,” he hastily informed her.
Then he stopped, faced that calm dark gaze, sum-
moned up fresh courage, and plunged in with:
“Look, Miss Baker, couldn’t we— I mean, I think we
ought to do something about winning this match—
can’t we— I wish you’d dine with me to-night!”

She did not reply at once, but merely looked
thoughtful. “I’m leaving for Paris early in the morn-
ing,” she announced, finally.

“Well, there’s all to-night. Couldn’t you manage
dinner?”

She hesitated a moment, looked at him quite
solemnly, so that he felt he was going to be de-
nounced for daring to suggest such a thing, then
lifted him clean up into the sky by suddenly declar-
ing: “Yes, I’ll come. Where?”

Wherever was most convenient for her, he told
her, but as she did not seem to care, and he did not
even know where she was staying, he ended by
naming a very good but shockingly expensive little
restaurant overlooking the sea just outside Beaulieu,
a famous place. To this she agreed, and fervently he
fixed the hour. “I don’t suppose you’ll want to
change, will you?” he concluded.

She gave tbis some thought too— she was a most
deliberate young beauty— and then, just when he was
beginning to feel gloomy about her again, she lit up,
quite genuinely lit up, actually smiled at him, and

14 the doomsday men

said: “I’ve a dress I’d like to wear, so you change
too.’’

“Right. Eight o’clock then. You know the
place?’’

“Yes. I think I’ll drive myself over.”

“Grandl” He could feel himself bubbling.

Before getting into the car, she looked at him
calmly but not unkindly, and to his astonishment
observed: “You’re very English, aren’t you?” Rather
as if being English were some amusing little game
he played with himself.

“Well, I suppose I am— just as you’re American.
I mean, that’s all right, isn’t it?”

She nodded. Then, with a quick change, asked:
“Did you ever play a better game than you did that
last set?”

“No, I think that was about the best I ever turned
in,” he told her, adding, ‘Tm apt to be a bit lazy,
and I don’t care enough as a rule about winning.”

“Why did you this time?”

Well, she’d asked for it, and she should have it.
He looked her in the eye. “Perhaps because I
thought you were so keen on our winning.”

She stepped into the car, but then leaned forward
and looked at him gravely. “That’s what I thought.
Eight o’clock then.” And she had gone.

He limped happily into the hotel, and after a long
luxurious bath, he stretched himself out and en-
joyed his first smoke of the day. He had that sense
of accomplishment and fulfilment which follows
hard exercise and a bath, and which accounts for the
spurious moral value attached to the playing of
games in England. Malcolm, as the girl had said,
was very English; but at this moment it was neither

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 15

conscious virtue nor a feeling of physical well-being
that was keeping his mind aglow. It was his success
at preventing the girl from disappearing again that
made him happy. True, she was leaving for Paris,
probably soon afterwards for Cherbourg to embark
for America, early in the morning; but then he him-
self was returning to London within the next two
days, his little holiday over; and meanwhile there
was to-night, and a table for two, and a good chance
that he might know all about her before they parted.
Now he was wondering— though he was still happy
about it— what there was to know. There might be
nothing; he had met people like that before,
mysterious tantalising facades covering a blank; a
girl might easily achieve such an appearance, especi-
ally a girl having nothing else to achieve. Yet even
as he told himself this, he did not believe it.

Clearly he was doing a very silly thing: he was fall-
ing in love with the girl. He had not the least desire
to fall in love with her or with anyone else; he was
not looking for romance, but for further commis-
sions to design schools, large or small, churches of
any size, villas, bungalows, mansions, castles, and for
a few good games of tennis between jobs. To prove
that he was really heart-free, instead of dressing he
read several chapters of a detective story, one of those
bright new tales in which the characters made funny
remarks across each fresh mangled corpse; then, in
a panic, hurled on his clothes like a quick-change
performer, and arrived breathless fully fifteen
minutes too early. This gave him plenty of time
to ask himself what he was doing, for of course Miss
Andrea Baker arrived fifteen minutes late. He had
decided to be cool, off-hand, a trifle contemptuous.

l6 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

but the moment she sailed in, looking like a Western
princess, he became the young man she had left three
hours before.

The head waiter, an artful fat Gascon, treated
them as if they were not only a superbly handsome
young couple, which indeed they were, but also as
if they were fabulously rich and fastidious gourmets,
to Malcolm’s secret dismay. He confided to them,
rather than merely handed to them, an immense
menu bewilderingly covered with a spidery writing
in pale-blue ink. They were led to order the special
cocktail of the restaurant, which cost more than any
other cocktail in the world simply because it con-
tained a little tangerine orange-juice. It was, Mal-
colm realised fearfully, that kind of restaurant.
Gazing across at the exquisite being who now shared
his table, he could not help hoping that she was not
the sort of rich American girl who demands a large
helping of the very best grey caviare and then drops
cigarette ash into it and decides that she prefers
cantaloup. He was far from rich himself, and he
knew that his bill at the hotel would be stiff, in-
evitably much stiffer than he could possibly antici-
pate, and that there would be added to it fantastic,
inexplicable taxes de s^jour and luxe, which repre-
sented nothing but the disapproval of the frugal
French, who saw no sense in the spendthrift antics
of visiting foreigners. He noticed there were no
French citizens entertaining their families or busi-
ness associates in this restaurant. They would be all
tucking in economically at some sensible place in
the town. The bill here would be monstrous. He
looked anxiously across at Andrea, and was much
relieved when she ignored the vast menu and firmly

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 17

ordered consommd, chicken and a salad.

Throughout the first part of the dinner they
chatted about the tournament, comparing notes as
partners; all of which was pleasant enough, but was
only a slight extension of the impersonal relationship
they had had already. He discovered— though he had
guessed most of it before— that she had been coached
for some years by one or two good professionals, at
first in or near New York and later in California; had
played a great deal in private; but for some reason
not mentioned had not had much tournament play.
She had seen a good many first-class matches, how-
ever, and they compared their impressions and
opinions of the outstanding players. In the end,
Malcolm confessed that though he still enjoyed the
game, and hoped to go on playing it until he could
no longer totter up to the net, he was now rather
bored with tennis society and talk, and had indeed
deliberately withdrawn himself from it. This, she
said, she could understand, and asked him to tell her
about himself.

This was better, much better, and took him
happily to the coffee and cigarettes. He told her all
about it, his professional ambitions, admitting he
was no genius nor even superlatively clever, but
assuring her earnestly that he was keen and had no
nonsense about him. He told her a little about his
home, his parents and sister, his three years at
Oxford, and hinted at such plans as he had, which
included designing and building a little house for
himself, somewhere on the North Downs.

“I ought to be able to manage it during the next
three years, unless we have a war or something
equally damnable,” he babbled on, happily. “I’ve

i8

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

some ideas for the place now— jolly good ideas, too-
saving expense and making it more convenient.
Look, what do you think of this?” He began sketch-
ing on the table-cloth. “Just imagine that perched
up, about five hundred feet, on top of a great green
hill, miles from anywhere.”

“Miles from anywhere,” she repeated, with a not
too unpleasant touch of scorn. “In England 1 You
ought to see— no, go on. Sorry!”

It took him a moment or two to recapture his
enthusiastic stride. “I know you Americans have all
the space in the world. Still, it’s relative, you know.
Once you’re out of London, really in the country,
you feel you’re miles from anywhere. And anyhow,
I can’t live there all the time. I have to go to the
office, and I’ll only get down for week-ends at first,
though I hope afterwards they’ll let me do some of
my work down there. You see, right at the top, Fll
have my own work-room— drawing-table, books,
everything. A bedroom underneath for myself.
Then two guest-rooms there— you see. I’ll put a
hard court in— you can make one quite cheaply if
you know the tricks— and a squash court, if I can run
to it. One big sitting- and dining-room combined,
of course. You see the idea? Look, here’s a rough
plan.”

“It might be a cunning little place,” she admitted,
with, he thought, quite unnecessary reluctance.

“You wait!” he cried triumphantly, almost as if
he had an invitation to his house-warming party in
his pocket for her. “It’ll be a grand little job.
Something to work for, too. And when they see it,
other people will want one — ”

“Have you lots of friends?” she asked sharply.

THE ABVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS I9

“Well, I don’t go in for lots of friends, y’know,
but I have some good friends— fellows I was at
Oxford with— and— oh!— some of my sister’s pals—
you know? I suppose you’ve plenty of friends,
haven’t you? Must have.’’

“No, I haven’t.” She said it without any particular
expression, just announced it.

He looked his surprise. She met his glance
calmly. He said nothing for a moment, then, with
an attempt at a lightness he did not feel, he ven-
tured: “I can’t understand that. In fact, I can’t
understand you at all, if you don’t mind my saying
so.”

She showed none of the usual feminine pleasure
at being hard to understand, inscrutable, unfathom-
able, mysterious, older-than-the-rocks-among-which-
she-sits; no Mona Lisa reaction at all. She merely
accepted his lack of understanding, then coolly dis-
missed it with “Go on.”

“Goon? With what?”

“About your house and what you’re going to do.”

“Oh— that! Well, there really isn’t a lot more to
say, unless you want some technical details— and I
don’t suppose you do. But, believe me—” and now
he lit up again “—I’m going to have some fun with
it in a quiet way. Three years and — ”

But she cut him short, though not rudely. “You’re
happy, aren’t you?” And she eyed him strangely.

He found this embarrassing. Was he happy? He
had never thought much about it. “Well— I think
I’ve been pretty lucky, really. I’ve a job I like, and
I’m not doing too badly at it. I have”— he caricatured
it— “me ’ealth an’ strength, y’know. I’ve some good
friends — ”

80

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“No,” she cried sharply, “can’t you see it’s not
really like that at all?”

He stared at the surprising girl. “What do you
mean?”

“1 mean,” she went on, harshly and with a vehem-
ence he had never expected, “it just isn’t like that.
You’ve never looked at things properly. You’re talk-
ing like a child. This job of yours— what does it
amount to? How long are you going to keep your
health and strength, as you call them? How do you
know these people are really good friends? Have
you tried them out? Have you tried anything out
yet? You know you haven’t. You’re just talking a
lot of pipe-dreams, that’s all. You don’t know yet—
you’ve never tried even to think— what life’s really
like ”

“Here, wait a minute,” he stammered, beginning
to recover from this astonishing outburst and on-
slaught. “How old are you?”

“Oh— what does that matter?” she returned im-
patiently. “Don’t tell me I’m not as old as you. I
know I’m not, though I’ll bet I’m only four years
younger. But that’s nothing to do with it.”

“What has, then?”

“Oh! — ” then she checked herself, and suddenly
pulled her wrap over her golden shoulders. “Let’s

Reluctantly he stood up. “It’s quite early, y’know.”

She hesitated a moment. “I know it. But I’d like
some air. If you like. I’ll drive you to the top where
we can see something.”

That was very different. Happily he paid the bill,
which was unre 2 isonable but not completely mon-
strous, and then joined her in the car, which she

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 2 1

was driving herself to-night. This was certainly a
very odd girl. He gave her a glance or two as they
moved off, saw she was now sunk inside herself, not
wanting to talk, so he did not break the silence. She
drove at a frightful speed up the steeply curving
road, but there was nothing about her to suggest that
she was aware of the fact. As the night swirled about
them, and lights flashed and then fled out of sight,
and destruction seemed to wait round every corner,
he felt very uneasy. This she sensed, without so
much as a look at him.

“Don’t worry,’’ she said, with a touch of scorn.
“I can drive. You won’t be killed.”

“Thanks very much,” he returned tartly.

“Sore?”

“Sore? No, I ache a bit after this afternoon — ”

She laughed, it seemed for the first time. “I meant,
sore at me. Mad. Angry.”

“Oh— no, not at all.” But even to himself he
sounded rather stiff. And a bit pompous. Very
English, no doubt.

She said nothing more until she had brought him,
by a series of heart-shaking miracles, to the high top
road, along which they roared until at last they
arrived at a place that showed them miles of the
Riviera coastline glittering below. It was a clear
but moonless night, rather cold, and below the
immense darkness in which they now came to a halt
the promenades and casinos and hotels far below
were picked out in twinkling light. The scene had
a certain hard beauty typical of the region, like that
of some handsome woman of the world wearing all
her diamonds. They got out, and looked down at it
all, silently, for some moments.

22 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“Like Southern California,” Andrea announced at
last, “only not so good.”

“I’ve never been there.”

“And don’t want to go, eh?”

“Yes, I’d like to. As a matter of feet, there’s a
chance— just a faint chance— I might. One of our
clients— he’s one of these film magnates who came
to England, and now he’s in Hollywood, but he’s
coming to England again— and wants to build a
house near the English studio— and he’s very im-
patient, wants to discuss plans and all that— so one
of us might have to go-4on’t suppose I’ll nab it
though, no such luck.” As she rnade no reply, he
felt compelled to go rambling on. “Don’t much care
for this part of the world, though. Too faked and
dolled up. No real atmosphere. Not real at all. Like
most of the people who come here— they’re not real
either. I only came for the tennis.”

"Well,” she said, softly, slowly, “you’ve had that.
Even if your partner wasn’t so hot.”

“My partner,” he replied firmly, “was good, very
good. Also, my partner, besides being shatteringly
handsome, is a very puzzling, mysterious young
woman. Nobody seems to know anything about her.
Some people say Baker isn’t her real name. I have
a feeling myself it isn’t, though I don’t know why.”
He turned to look at her in the darkness, and could
just see her face, mysteriously illuminated by the
distant lights, a dim enchantment of a face. She did
not return his look.

“If you must know,” she replied, “it isn’t.”

“I hope Andrea’s all right. I like Andrea.”

“Yes.”

“And the other?”

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 2 $

“What does that matter?” She sounded impatient.

He hesitated a moment, then replied quietly: “It
matters rather a lot, I think, to me.” She did not
reply but made an impatient little sound and a rest-
less movement or two. These did not deter him.
He moved closer, so that their shoulders were touch-
ing. “You see,” he began, “I seem to have done a
very silly thing this week. I seem to have spent most
of the week, when we weren’t playing together,
thinking about you ”

“Oh, don’t start that,” she cried, and moved
sharply away from him. “Don’t think because I
haven’t been around all the time, I haven’t had
plenty of that stufiE handed to me, specially on dark
nights. If you thought I brought you here for that,
you’ve got me all wrong.” She stared away from him.

He felt as if she had hit him in the face. “I can’t
walk back to my hotel in thin dress shoes,” he ex-
plained carefully, “so would you mind driving me
back?”

She turned without a word, and he followed her
into the car. Their descent was even more terrify-
ing than the climb had been, and the girl appeared
to care little if she should kill the pair of them. But
this time he did not show his uneasiness. He sat
there rigidly, ready to make a polite reply to any
remark she might make. But she made none. It was
a most unpleasant half-hour.

Within sight of the hotel, she was compelled to
slow down, and finally she stopped altogether, close
to the entrance. Then she looked at him, it appeared
reproachfully.

“Well?” he enquired.

“Oh— why did you?”

24

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“Did I what?”

“You know— start that stuff. I hoped ” but she

did not tell him what she had hoped.

What he said now surprised himself, being entirely
unrehearsed. “I think,” he began slowly, quietly,
“you’ve got me all wrong too. I’m going to say some-
thing important— I mean, important to me— so if
you really don’t want to listen and are going to lose
your temper again, please stop me now.” He waited.

But this, after all, was a girl, however strangely
she might behave. “Go on then. I’ll be quiet.”

“I want to say something I’ve never said to a girl
before. I didn’t intend to say it, didn’t know, in fact,
that I could say it, and if you think I’m a bit barmy-
all right. But it’s this. We’ve done nothing but play
some tennis together— and, after all, I’ve had plenty
of good tennis partners in my time— and I don’t
know anything about you, and apparently you don’t
want me to know— and, if you like, it’s all crazy— but
the fact is, I seem to have fallen in love with you.
I know now— it’s the real, genuine thing. It’s never
happened before like this, and I have a feeling it
won’t happen again. It looks to me as if I’ll go on
thinking about you for a long, long time. I don’t
want to, but it looks as if I’U have to. And I don’t
know why. You’re beautiful, I think— really beauti-
ful— but I’ve met beautiful girls before, and this
didn’t happen. There’s something about you— and
I’ll be hanged if it’s the way you behave— that does
something very strange to me. I wish to God it
didn’t. And now I’ve said what I wanted to say-
just some more of the old stuff you’ve had so much
of — ”

“No!” She was vehement again, but now with a

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 25

very different tone. “I didn’t mean— this. This is
different.”

“I see. Well— you know now how I feel. And, I
suppose, that’s that.” He made a movement, as if
to get out, but she stopped him, and then remained,
leaning towards him a little, looking at him with
great dark eyes. He could see her face now, for the
light from the lamps along the curved roadway to
the hotel found its way into the car. He was not
to forget the look on her face for a long time. But
having stopped him, she did not speak.

“It’s all— quite hopeless, I gather.” He tried to be
easy.

She nodded, tragically. “Yes. But not— in the way
you think ”

“Why, then?”

“I can’t explain.”

“I see,” he replied shortly, for he felt he deserved
a little more confidence from her than this.

“No, you don’t— and it’s no use getting mad at me
again— specially now— after what you’ve said.” Her
voice trailed off as she looked, at once searchingly
and sadly, at him again. Then she said, almost
to herself, and almost as if about to repeat some-
thing memorised carefully already: “Malcolm Darby-
shire.”

“That,” he observed, rather bitterly, “is the
name.”

“Don’t talk to me that way now,” she said hastily.
“I’ve got to go in a minute— and go for good.” She
seemed to study him again. “I like you,” she added
slowly. “I like you a whole lot, Malcolm Darbyshire.
More than you think.”

“And yet— it’s hopeless.”

26 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“Yes, it’s hopeless— because everything’s hopeless.’’

“Now that’s just nonsense,” he cried angrily.
“And you’re not playing £air. You know very well
everything isn’t hopeless.”

“I don’t. But it’s no use talking.”

“Why not? I can’t see — ”

“I know you can’t,” she cut in, sharply but
miserably, “and I can’t make you see— so what’s the
use? I must go now.”

“No— please— Andreal ”

“Yes. And listen!” She came closer still, and took
his hand in a fierce little grip. “Forget what you’ve
just told me. Forget me. Don’t worry the least little
bit again about me. It’s all useless. And I do like
you a whole lot. You’re sweet. So it isn’t that.
Good-bye!”

There was a glitter of tears in the face so close to
his. He stared at her dumbly, then suddenly stirred
to action, turned a little and put his free hand on
her shoulder.

“Really good-bye?” He was hugely incredulous.

“Yes,” she replied, very simply now and solemnly,
like a small child. “And— for ever.”

And then the astonishing girl kissed him, warmly,
passionately, despairingly kissed him, but as his arms
tightened round her, she pushed him away, made
no reply to his incoherent protestations, sat blindly
at the wheel until he had reluctantly climbed out;
and then she drove away at full speed, leaving him
standing there, bewildered, wildly oscillating be-
tween misery and joy, still feeling her lips on his,
and yet watching her go rocketing clean out of his
life. In this whirlpool he remained, to be twisted
and tossed round endlessly, until nearly daybreak,

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 27

by which time he began to sleep fitfully on his wreck
of a bed.

Next morning he knew at once that she had gone
and that the Riviera was a mere empty shell, the
whole witchery and glamour of life having departed
for Paris and further mysterious destinations. He
enquired eagerly at the desk for letters, hoping that
she might have left one of those little notes of fare-
well that few women can resist leaving. But there
was nothing for him. He did not know where she
had been staying. He did not know where she
was going, though he imagined that she lived in
California and was probably returning there. He
did not know her real name. There he was, left
hopelessly and idiotically in love with a girl about
whom he knew next to nothing, a girl who either
was not quite right in her head— and this he did not
believe for a moment— or was deeply unhappy and
compelled to appear remote and mysterious. He
spent the day, his last there, moodily hanging about
and doing a little listless packing and occasionally
trying to find out if anybody knew anything about
Andrea, and not succeeding. She was not in the
tennis world nor in smart society, just one of those
good-looking American girls who sometimes blow in
to compete, and usually have a good forehand
wallop. It was like enquiring about a comet among
the members of a planetary system. He knew no
more about her by five o’clock than when he had
wakened that morning.

Just after five, however, a telegram arrived for
him, with all the dramatic unexpectedness of tele-
grams. It had been sent from Lyons, and ran: No
dont forget all about me but goodbye Malcolm—

28 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

Andrea. Forget her? He was in for a hell of a time
trying to keep her out of his mind for five minutes
together. He read this telegram at least eighteen
times before dinner, looking at it again and again as
if there might, idiotically, be some word he had
missed, or that she herself might somehow miracu-
lously peep out at him between the now familiar
words. A new feeling of tenderness for her now
overcame him, because of this deeply feminine last
message, which brought her back to him as a real
breathing girl and not as a mysterious departed
figure. Yet there was precious little consolation in
it; all the glamour of the world had gone; and he
was left— though making ready to depart himself—
in a Riviera that was a weary emptiness. Thank God
he too had to go!

It came, that precious little piece of information,
that blessed light in darkness, as such things so often
do, when he was least expecting it. In the dining-
car of the Paris express he found himself sharing a
table with old Bellowby-Sayers, a wheezy fat old
snob and gossip, who had come over from Cannes
several days to watch the tennis, not because he really
cared about the game but because he liked to be in
at everything when the spotlight was on it. As the
spotlight had been on Malcolm too for at least one
afternoon, old Bellowby-Sayers was glad to notice his
existence, though Malcolm would have preferred
being left alone. Afterwards he thanked his stars for
that seat, none too comfortable, next to the snobbish
old gasbag.

“Had a good tournament, didn’t you, my boy?”
said Bellowby-Sayers, after pulling a face at the fish
set before him. “Let’s see— semi-final in the Singles,

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TENNIS PARTNERS 20

wasn’t it? Ah— yes— that Austrian lad was a bit too
quick for you. Don’t get the practice most of these
regular fellas do, I suppose? Good show, though.
And, of course, the Mixed Couples. Played a great
game that last set, I thought. How did you like your
partner? Fine gal, eh?”

Malcolm admitted she was, and said to himself,
“Yes, the finest gal you’ve ever seen, you old chump.”

Then it came, a gift from the gods. Old Bellowby-
Sayers chuckled. “Bet you don’t know who she is!”

This time Malcolm did not talk to himself. “No,”
he replied eagerly. “Nobody seemed to know. I was
wondering if you did. You meet a lot of people.”

“Yes, I get about a bit. Matter of fact, I recog-
nised her at Cannes. She was staying there. She’s
the only daughter of a fella who played merry hell
in Wall Street a few years ago, and then cleared out,
with a colossal pile. One of these American metal
men— copper, silver, all that. The real thing— multi-
millionaire— but a queer, miserable sort of fella, I
thought— probably no digestion left, like most of
these fellas. Met him several times, and the gal with
him once. Yes, she’s his only daughter— and coming
in for a packet, believe me. Fancy he’s made one
of his quick trips over here— though he’s out of the
market now— and she came with him and rushed
down for a bit of tennis. Heard she played a good
game. Fine-looking gal, but not very lively— not like
some of these American gals you see about— gay
little devils!”

While he was rambling on, Malcolm was telling
himself that he was in love with the daughter, the
only daughter, of some fantastic American multi-
millionaire, probably a dyspeptic old tyrant. But did

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

30

that explain the girl’s queer moods, the inexplicable
things she said, that strange last minute with her?
Just too much money? Dollar princess nonsense?
No, it didn’t. She wasn’t that kind of a girl. There
was something more, he felt sure, something that no
Bellowby-Sayers would be able to account for, some-
thing that was going to haunt and tantalise him
endlessly until he saw her again. And for all her
good-byes-for-ever, her millions and Californias, he
was going to see her again, somehow or other. Now
he heard himself, above the beating of his heart,
asking her name.

“Probably means nothing to you, my boy,” replied
Bellowby-Sayers, “and it’s dropped out a bit over
there. But one time in Wall Street it frightened the
lives out of some of ’em. Henry MacMichael. He’s
retired to California now, I believe; probably one of
these ranch places up in the hills back of Los
Angeles.”

So there she was then, living in the hills some-
where in Southern California when she was at home,
his girl if he was ever to have a girl: Andrea,
daughter of Henry MacMichael.

CHAPTER TVVO

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR

I N an unfashionable and not very comfortable
hotel within sight of the British Museum a tall
young American sat in a little chair, now
perilously tilted back, with his stockinged feet on
the bed, eating an apple and staring gloomily at the
steamy window. It was the middle of summer, but
here in London the summer did not seem to know
when to begin. This morning it had rained again;
though the sun was somewhere about, so that the
streets appeared to be smoking and the window was
steamy. The young American was deciding that a
good baking hot day would do him good. His name
was George Glenway Hooker; he had long large
bones with very little flesh on them, deep-set eyes
and delicate finger-tips, untidy dark hair, an
awkward manner, and clothes that appeared to have
been made for somebody else; he had three different
scientific degrees and a gold medal; already he had
been a demonstrator, a research student, an assistant
professor, a full professor, and now he had a research
fellowship from the Weinberger Institute of Tech-
nology; but what he really was— although he would
have been the first to deny it— was a magician. It is
doubtful if anybody in Bloomsbury would have
given the tall young man more than one quick
glance, for within the shadow of the great Museum
there are always dozens of young men who look very

31

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

3S

untidy, rather learned, dullish; yet the fact remains
that this George Glenway Hooker was the only
genuine magician in the neighbourhood. And he
was not only a magician; he was also an explorer,
moving slowly forward in regions where he left the
rest of mankind, with its pitiful fusses and squabbles,
far behind. Most of them neither knew nor cared
what he and his handful of colleagues, scattered over
the world, were doing. Now and again when he
made an attempt to tell a few of them, they almost
yawned in his face. They did not realise— and he
never told them, because he did not realise it him-
self— that they were staring, with a glazed bored eye,
at a magician, a fantastic explorer, one of the greatest
of the American pioneers, working along the very
frontier of life itself.

What George Glenway Hooker could do, and had
done several times already, was to transform what
we call matter, but which he knew as the tiniest
charges of positive electricity, into light, and also to
conjure light itself, in the form of photons, back
again into the' bases of matter. He spent his working
hours in a magical world of infinitely minute solar
systems, where the very elements themselves can be
instantly transmuted. He and his friends had forced
their way into the secret laboratory of Nature her-
self. It was quite possible, that is, if the next bar-
baric outburst did not blow them and their work-
shops to smithereens, that one of them might
emerge, with a handful of mathematical and
chemical symbols, to announce that the universe
that houses us is quite different from what we have
so far imagined, and might prove what many have
guessed at, namely, that Newton, with his solid

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 33

engine of a cosmos, was wrong, and that Shakes-
peare, with his dissolving towers and palaces and
universal stuff of dream, was strangely right. There
was, indeed, nothing too fantastic that they might
not announce at any moment, they were so far re-
moved, in their adventure of research, from the
common run of men. Yet all this did not prevent
George Glenway Hooker from being an awkward
young man with a shy manner, disgraceful trousers,
and an ability, almost amounting to genius, for
landing himself in uncomfortable hotels.

He had come to England this summer not simply
because he was temporarily free to travel, for he did
not enjoy travelling, being a poor hand at it, and
regarding it as a waste of precious time. He had two
reasons for crossing the Atlantic, and the second of
them he hardly acknowledged even to himself. The
first was far more sensible: he wanted to visit that
Mecca of good physicists, the Cavendish Laboratory
at Cambridge, and indeed had just returned from a
happy visit there. It had been during the vacation,
what these cool drawling Cambridge men, with their
elaborately off-hand manner, called “the Long,” but
several good fellows had been still at work, at some
very pretty little experiments too, and once he had
accepted their odd manner, which had seemed con-
ceited at first until he had realised that it was their
English equivalent of his own gruff shyness, he had
had a fine time xvith them. Now that was over, and
he ought to be thinking about getting back to New
York. This brought him, reluctantly, face-to-face
with his second reason for coming over here.

It sounded foolish, just to say it, but there it was:
a distinguished American physicist had disappeared.

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

34

vanished as completely as if every electron in his
being had suddenly been charged with positive in-
stead of negative electricity. He had not disappeared
dramatically, with the police and the newspapers
looking for him: that would have been much easier.
No, Professor Paul Engelfield had coolly and quietly
resigned from his last chair, at Chicago, had given
out that he preferred independent research, which
was not surprising for he was known to have plenty
of money at his disposal; and then he had completely
vanished. Nobody Hooker had talked to, and he
had made a special journey to Chicago, only this
Spring, to enquire, knew where Professor Engelfield
had gone. For nearly two years now. Hooker had
been waiting for some dramatic announcement— for
the missing scientist was not without a touch of the
histrionic— from Professor Engelfield about his
favourite heavy nuclei, which he had been persis-
tently bombarding with both electrons and photons,
in his own type of cyclotron. But not a word. This
might mean that he had failed and was sulking in
some obscure laboratory of his own. (And Hooker
could imagine him sulking.) It might mean that
he was on the edge of something tremendous, and
refused to say anything, even to admit he was experi-
menting, until he was certain of success. It was just
possible that he was ill somewhere, but it was not
likely, for Hooker, who had met him once or twice
at conferences, remembered him as a strong-looking
man only in his early fifties, filled with energy, not
at all the kind of man to be feebly decaying in some
unknown nursing-home. And if anything had
happened to him, there would have been something
in the Press, for Engelfield was a very distinguished

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 35

scientist indeed, a man who might have walked off
with a Nobel Prize at any moment. Other physicists
were puzzled by his disappearance, but not one of
them had been fool enough to go looking for him.
And now Hooker was compelled to admit to himself
that he had been fool enough, had not only enquired
extensively throughout the States but had also come
over here to England in the hope that he might
discover that Engelfield, now free to roam and with
ample means from some private source, had decided
to continue his experiments in Europe, probably in
Cambridge. But he had not come upon a single
trace of h i m. At the Cavendish, of course, they had
heard of Engelfield, but, ironically enough, had
asked Hooker what Engelfield was doing now. And
that was precisely what was worrying George Glen-
way Hooker. What was Engelfield doing now?

For they had both been working in the same re-
mote field, with Engelfield, older by twenty years
at least and with far more resources of every kind
at his command, some way ahead. Hooker was
anxious to get to work again, but first he badly
needed some news of what Engelfield was doing.
His interest was purely scientific and professional.
Remembering Engelfield again now, as he stare<i at
his steamy bedroom window and finished the apple.
Hooker decided that he had disliked rather than
liked the man, even though he had been such a swell.
He called to mind again Engelfield’s thick-set figure,
heavy dark face, with its bristling brows and big
moustache (he had looked not unlike Stalin), and
fiercely arrogant manner, which had kept him chang-
ing, to the bewilderment of his colleagues, from one
university or technological institute to another.

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

36

There was nothing o£ the teacher about Engelfield;
he had been the pure research student, looking
always for a good laboratory and a university presi-
dent who would leave him alone with his apparatus
and not be always summoning him to clap-trap con-
ferences. That was all right. George Hooker could
understand and sympathise with that. But there had
always been a bit too much of the lone wolf about
Engelfield, who would arrogantly demand informa-
tion when he badly needed it, but hated to give any;
and he had been very contemptuous, very much the
sneering senior, that time they had had a sharp clash
at the Cleveland Conference. “Our promising young
colleague, in his praiseworthy enthusiasm, but rash
endeavour to obtain results . . .” that was the line
of talk he had handed out, and Hooker still smarted
a little at the remembrance of it. But he was not
a young man who bore malice, and after all, they
were both scientists, weren’t they, both working in
the same remote field? “Aw, shucks!” cried Dr.
George Glenway Hooker, neatly pitching the re-
mains of the apple into the wastepaper basket, and
uncoiling his lean length. Where in hell was Engel-
field?

The Cavendish crowd at Cambridge didn’t know
where he was. Bergler had replied from Berlin that
he was sure Engelfield had not been in Germany
recently. Stuvert from Brussels hadn’t heard any-
thing about him. The Radium Institute in Paris
had not seen him, for Hooker had gone there him-
self when he first landed. There was Russia, but
Hooker didn’t believe Engelfield had tried Russia:
he looked too much like Stalin himself, Engelfield
did, to try Russia. So Hooker told himself now that he

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 37

might as well pack up and get a little real sunshine
before settling down to work in the fall. Engelfield,
the selfish devil, had meant to walk right out and
leave the rest of them guessing, and he had done it
only too well. How he had done it, Hooker could
not imagine. All that he could imagine, unfortun-
ately, was that just when he was in distant sight of
a result, Engelfield would suddenly bob up from
nowhere to announce the success of some tre-
mendous experiment of his own.

So George Hooker walked from his hotel down
Charing Cross Road and then along Shaftesbury
Avenue to Piccadilly Circus, to tell the American
Express that he had decided to sail as soon as pos-
sible. He did not enjoy the walk; in fact, he did
not enjoy London at all; it seemed to him an un-
necessarily squat, cheerless, dingy sort of city, with
a lot of old buildings in it that were not worth pre-
serving, and a good many new buildings that were
only a poor and miniature imitation of New York
and Chicago. The museums were good, but the best
place in it was the National Gallery, which he had
visited several times, for he had an eye for pictures,
and there, he had to confess, was a dandy collection.
Take the National Gallery out of the city, adding to
it the Science and British Museums, and you could
have the rest— too damp, too cold, too dark, too
gloomy, a mournful Old World monster of a town,
terrified now that it would have all hell bombed out
of it at the drop of a hat.

The American Express was busy, as usual, and
there was the customary chattering swarm of Ameri-
can women with bright orange lips and hard eyes,
the sort of women Hooker never noticed at all when

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

38

he was back home. But there was one he knew, the
wife of a chemistry man now at the Rockefeller
Institute, and this little woman, who had been quiet
and sensible enough at home, now behaved like a
mad magpie and screamed all kinds of nonsense at
him. London seemed to do something to these
women. The thought of royalty and Life Guards
and glass coaches and ostrich feathers just round the
comer appeared to be too much for them. Usually
he was a tolerant young man, so long as he was
allowed to work in peace and wear comfortable old
clothes, but now he meditated sourly on these
phenomena. But after waiting half the morning, he
was lucky enough to obtain a berth in the Queen
Mary, sailing from Southampton in two days’ time,
on Wednesday afternoon.

After a watery and absent-minded sort of lunch
at his Bloomsbury hotel, he did a little packing, so
that he could send his trunk on in advance, then
decided to pay a final call on the Camford Instru-
ment Company, from whom he had bought a few
things and whose calm clean showroom seemed to
him a haven of peace and good sense. He had still
to finish his talk with Morrison there about evacu-
ated tubes. The Cavendish crowd had shown him a
thing or two that Morrison ought to have known,
for he sometimes did jobs for the Cavendish, and
Hooker thought he could cheer himself up and pass
the remainder of the aftemqon nicely by having a
good companionable jeer at Morrison. So, a little
after three, he arrived at the entrance to the Cam-
ford Instrument Company’s premises, which hid
themselves away, like so many concerns in this
strange dark island, up a mouldy little side-street.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 39

just as if they made burglars’ tools. Just inside the
door he waited a moment, to see if Morrison were
visible. He was not. But there was a thick-set fellow
giving instructions to one of the assistants, and there
was something about the cut of this fellow, even
from the back, that seemed vaguely familiar to
Hooker. So he waited a little longer.

The thick-set man had now finished with the
assistant, who brought him a step or two nearer the
door. But the thick-set man now waved him away,
as if he did not need any further attendance.

“Now don’t forget,’’ Hooker heard the man say,
sharply, “Suite Seven A— the Savoy. Everything else
delivered to Barstow, California. Got that? Right.’’

Now he was rapidly approaching Hooker, who
still stood just in front of the door. The man was
wearing spectacles and a short but thick beard; the
face was thinner, browner, than the one Hooker
remembered; but nevertheless, if this was not Pro-
fessor Paul Engelfield, late of the University of
Chicago and other American institutions of learn-
ing, then George Glenway Hooker was no longer
quite right in his head. And what luck! At the last
minute! Quite excited now. Hooker took a step or
two forward, held out his hand, smiled broadly.

“Professor Engelfield,’’ he cried rapturously, "I’ve
been looking everywhere for you. Goshl— this is
great!’’

The bearded man stopped dead, stared at him,
then said coldly: “There’s some mistake, my dear
sir. I don’t know you.”

“But you’re Professor Engelfield, who used to be
at Chicago, aren’t you?” said poor Hooker. The
light was not good where they had stopped, and he

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

40

might have made a mistake. But the voice, he could
have sworn, was the same.

It had been the same, but now it suddenly
changed, was harsher, more guttural, almost a
foreign voice: “No. My name’s not Engelfield. Some
mistake. Good day to you.” And the man brushed
past him and marched straight out.

Hooker remained rooted, staring. Something was
wrong. On a sudden impulse he hurried outside,
but the man had disappeared, possibly into the taxi
that was just pulling out of the street. He returned
slowly, trying to puzzle it out, then went across to
the assistant, one of those superior dim young
Englishmen who never seemed pleased to see a chap.

“I’m Dr. Hooker of the Weinberger Institute of
Technology,” he began, giving the assistant the
works in a vain hope of impressing him. “I’ve been
here before.” He paused, to let this sink in.

If the assistant was impressed, ;he gave no sign of
it. He merely made a polite sound towards the back
of his throat.

“Now wasn’t that Professor Engelfield who just
went out?”

“No, sir.”

Hooker stared at him. The stare was returned,
and there was the faint dawn of an outraged look
on the assistant’s pale fair face. This kind of thing,
it was beginning to say, simply was Not Done.

“You sure?” Hooker sounded incredulous.

The assistant raised his pale fine eyebrows. Bad
Form, they proclaimed. Very Bad Form. “That is
not the name, sir. Evidently you’ve made a mistake.”

“Well, what is his name then?” Hooker demanded.

The assistant did not say “Mind your own busi-

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 4 1

ness!” He merely looked it. The eiBEect was the same.

“Look here,” said Hooker desperately. “Didn’t
I overhear him tell you to deliver some stuflE to
Barstow, California?”

“We are delivering an order there,” replied the
assistant distantly.

“Then he must be an American. And he looked
like Engelfield, except for the beard and tlie spec-
tacles, and talked like him too— at first. I don’t
understand this. And I might as well tell you, I’ve
been looking for Engelfield all over the place. Now
—come on— I’m a customer here just as much as that
chap is. Tell me the truth.”

“I can only assure you, sir,” said the assistant,
wincing a little at all this crude Americanism, but
quite firmly, “that the gentleman who just left, sO'
far as I know, is not your Professor Engelfield. I am
sorry I can’t give you his name, but as I saw you
address him yourself and he did not choose to give-
it, I really don’t feel at liberty to do so myself. That
would amount to a breach of confidence.”

“I see. And I suppose it would be another breach
o£ confidence if you told me what it is he wants over
there at Barstow?”

“Naturally, sir. 'This company regards all its com-
missions as being strictly confidential. You would
expect that yourself, I imagine, sir.”

“I might— at that,” said Hooker gloomily. He
hesitated a moment, then added: “Tell Mr. Morri-
son I called but couldn’t stop. And tell him the-
Cavendish crowd agrees with me about the evacu-
ated tubes.” And out he marched, feeling defeated.

What next? Had he made an ass of himself, or
ivas that really Engelfield, plus a beard and spec--

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

42

tacles? If Engelfield, for some reason best known to
himself, wanted to disappear, perhaps so that he
could experiment in secret, he might easily have
grown a beard— the spectacles were probably neces-
sary to him now— and have changed his name. It
was not, Hooker reminded himself as he walked
moodily away, as if he had seen the man anywhere,
in an hotel, at a theatre, having a drink; then he
might have understood that he could have been mis-
taken. But this fellow not only looked and talked
like Engelfield, but he had actually been giving an
order— and Hooker had a notion that it was no small
order— at one of the most famous firms of laboratory
instrument makers in the world. As a coincidence,
that was a bit thick. Then again, his manner, if
that of a total stranger, was all a mistake. Why be
so gruff, peremptory, and hurry out like that? To
be mistaken for Professor Engelfield was no insult
to a man who could give an order to the Camford
Instrument Company. Whichever way Hooker
looked at it, something was wrong. Well, what next?
Did he give in and tamely take the next boat home?
If he did, he concluded, he would be spending the
next six months calling himself names instead of
getting on with his work.

So the tall young man who strolled into the Savoy
Hotel, an hour later, did not announce himself at
the desk. He looked about him in the big busy
entrance hall, where so many of his fellow-country-
men and women were asking questions about boats
and baggage, buying theatre tickets and copies of
the New Yorker, or waiting for Father, Mother, Sis
or Junior; and then he went upstairs to find suite
Seven A. After several walks along warm corridors.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 43

he found the door he wanted and knocked sharply
on it. Actually it was not properly closed, and he
heard a voice inside roaring “Come in.” Once in-
side, he felt the fool he had anticipated feeling, for
the man sitting in there was not the man he had
spoken to earlier that afternoon.

No, this was a heavily-built, clean-shaven man,
about sixty or so, with a square jaw and a permanent
slight scowl; and he had that indefinable look of
wealth and power and successful bullying which
suggests big and not too scrupulous business. Yet—
and Hooker saw it in a flash before they had ex-
changed a single word— he too reminded him of
Engelfield, a rather older, richer, big business Engel-
field.

“Well?” asked this big man sharply. “What do
you want?” His tone suggested that people were
always wanting things from him— and generally not
getting them.

And what did he want? Hooker asked himself
this, desperately, and decided that what he chiefly
wanted was to be safely outside.

“I seem to have made a mistake,” he stammered.
“I used to know a Professor Engelfield, and I’ve
been looking for him — ”

“Why?” This was as sharp as it was unexpected.

“Well— we happen to be doing— roughly— the same
sort of research. I’m a physicist, you see— and— well
—I had an idea Professor Engelfield was staying
here ”

“Where did you get that idea from?”

“I thought I saw him— and overheard him giving
this address — ”

The other grunted, and stared hard at Hooker, as

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

44

if to discover what his little game was. “You didn’t
send your name up, did you?” he said, finally, with
an unpleasant intonation. “Just came charging in,
eh?”

“Yes. But I only wanted to make sure — ”

“Well, now you have— because I can tell you right
now I’m not Professor Engelfield or whatever his
name is— you’d better charge out again, eh?”

“All right. Sorry I made a mistake.”

And Hooker turned and opened the door, only
to find himself face-to-face again with the bearded
man who had been at the Instrument Company.
And the bearded man, startled, muttered something
very rude. But that was not all. This time Hooker
noticed a little old scar above the left eyebrow of
this bearded man, and the last time he had noticed
that scar was at the Cleveland Conference. Yes, this
was Engelfield all right, whatever he might say.
Triumphantly, Hooker stepped back and let him
enter the room.

“How did you get in here?”

“I wanted a word with you. Professor Engelfield.”

“I told you before — ”

“Yes, and you needn’t tell me again,” cried
Hooker in triumph, “because now I know. 'That
little scar. I remember it. You’re Professor Engel-
field all right— and it’s useless denying it.”

“And what if I am?”

This was not easy to answer politely. Hooker
longed to say, "Well, what in the name of science
and decency is the idea of pretending you’re not,
growing that beard, changing your name, trying to
disappear? What are you after, man?” But all he
did was to mutter: “I wanted to find you, that’s all.”

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 45

The Other two exchanged a quick glance, neither
of them looking very pleased. Then Engelfield hung
up his hat, and sat down. Hooker remained stand-
ing, near the door.

“Who is this?” the older man asked irritably.

“He’s what he looks like, Henry,” replied Engel-
field with a grin. “A young American scientist— and
not a bad one as they go— called— let’s see—
Bunker — ?”

“Hooker” said that young man sharply. Engel-
field was as arrogant as ever, it seemed. This other
fellow, Henry, might possibly be his brother. A
nice family.

Then he made up his mind to say what he had
to say and then clear out. “Listen, Professor Engel-
field,” he began earnestly, “I’m sorry if I’m butting
in where I’m not wanted, but I’ve been trying to
find you for a long time. After all, we were working
in the same field, and T felt you might be able to
tell me something — ”

“I might— at that,” said Engelfield, sardonically.

“Well, nobody knew anything about you— and I
tried to find out where you were— knew you must be
working somewhere— then this afternoon when I
heard you asking for those instruments to be sent
out to Barstow ”

“How’s that?” This came like a pistol shot from
the older man, who glanced angrily at Engelfield
The latter gave a shrug, exchanged a further glance
with the other, then suddenly, as if he had now
made up his mind, turned and smiled.

“Your guess was right, of course. Hooker,” he
said, quite pleasantly. “I haven’t been wasting my
time. But— well, this is difficult. I’ll have to have

46 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

a word with my brother here— he’s been paying the
piper lately— before I can decide if I can tell you
anything. Now if you’ll excuse us a minute— just
sit right here— have a cigarette?— fine!”

In a glow of triumph, for here at the last minute
he seemed to have pulled it off, not only having
found Engelfield but now standing a fair chance, it
seemed, of being admitted to his confidence, George
Glenway Hooker smoked his cigarette, and had
come to the end of it before the brothers returned
from the neighbouring room in the suite. They re-
turned smiling, confident, and for some obscure
reason Hooker did not like the look of them. Yet
they were now quite friendly.

“Well, that’s all settled,” said Engelfield smoothly.
"I don’t say I can tell you everything— but I might
be able to tell you one or two things you don’t
know.”

“Fine!” cried Hooker, so delighted that he began
to babble a little. “And I don’t mind telling you.
Professor Engelfield, I’m so dead keen I’d have
followed you right out to Barstow or wherever you
are in California— just to see what you’re doing.”

“You would, eh? What did I tell you, Henry?
These boys mean business. And when were you
thinking of sailing. Hooker?”

“This week.”

“Well, we’ve time. Now what I suggest is this—
and of course it’s up to you— I’ve nothing here, and
for the next twenty-four hours I have to stay here,
to clear things up— but I’ve been staying at a little
place in the country that Henry rented— and all my
notes are down there. Now if you could get down
there to-morrow night, when we could be quietly by

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 47

ourselves, I could give you some idea of what I’ve
been doing— and, believe me, it’s worth a little
trouble.”

Hooker was all enthusiasm. His ship did not sail
until the day following; he could just manage it.
What a breaki “There’s nothing I’d like better,”
he cried. “Where is it?”

“The house is called The Old Farm, and it’s just
outside a village called Ewsbury, about twenty miles
this side of Oxford. If you’re going down by train—
you’d have to, eh?— all right, then— it’s what they
call a Halt on a side-line of the Great Western Rail-
way. You get down there about nine to-morrow
night, ril be there then or as soon afterwards as
I can make it. Now, there’ll be nobody in, because
we’ve just dismissed the servants— we’re giving the
place up— but if I’m there, the front door will be
open. If I’m not, don’t wait outside, go round to
the back— you can easily get in through a window
if the door happens to be locked— and go right up-
stairs, turn to the right at the top and it’s the far
room, and wait in my study. I left a sheaf of notes
on the table there, and if you have to wait, you can
amuse yourself trying to decipher ’em. How’s that?”

It sounded a bit complicated, but Hooker en-
thusiastically agreed, and made a careful note of
the place and all the other directions.

“You’re a fortunate young man,” said the heavy
brother Henry, rather grimly.

“I’ll say I am,” cried Hooker, who felt he was.
“There’s something pretty big coming, I guess.
You’re sure to be there to-morrow night, aren’t you,
Professor Engelfield, because my boat sails pretty
soon?”

48 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“Don’t worry about that.” He waited a moment.
“There’s something you could do for me. That bag,
Henry.” The latter nodded, and went into the ad-
joining room. Engelfield smiled at Hooker, and
continued: “If you want to be sure I’ll be there, and
do something for me at the same time, I wish you’d
take this bag down there for me— I’m going to be
pretty loaded up and I’m mighty forgetful these
days. All you have to do is to take it down with you
and, if I’m not there first, see that you take it up-
stairs with you into the study. All right? Fine! By
the way, you needn’t bring a bag of your own down
there because I can easily fix you up with everything
you want, if you stay the night. Now here’s the bag
I want you to take down for me.”

Henry had returned and solemnly handed over
to Hooker a small but heavy leather suitcase. “It’s
locked, young man,” he said. “So you don’t need to
worry about that. And now— if my brother doesn’t
mind parting from you so soon — ” It was a dis-
missal.

Hooker accepted it cheerfully. Once this pon-
derous brother was out of the way, and he and
Engelfield were together, with a sheaf of notes and
the quiet night in front of them, they could really
talk.

“To-morrow night then— at the Old Farm, eh?”
said Engelfield, steering him and the bag towards
the door. “Sorry we can’t start right now, but Henry
here has too many irons in the fire and we’re trying
to clear things up— you know how it is?”

“Yes. And thanks. This is a great chance for me,”
said Hooker earnestly, looking his gratitude. There
was a kihd of flicker went across the dark bearded

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 49

face, as if a tiny shadow passed over it, but at that
moment Hooker was too intent upon showing his
gratitude even to wonder what it meant. He strode
out of the Savoy Hotel, heavy little bag in hand, like
a conqueror. At one tremendous stroke he had not
only found Professor Engelfield but had miracu-
lously contrived to win his confidence. Hooker did
not doubt for a moment that there was something
sensational coming: Engelfield had the look of a
man whose research had been wildly successful. And
during the next twenty-four hours, when he was out-
wardly busy packing and sending his baggage off to
the ship, paying his bills, and clearing up generally,
George Glenway Hooker was also too happily busy
in his mind wondering what form Engelfield’s new
discovery would take, whether there had been at last
some startling results from the heavier nuclei, to
give more than a passing thought or two to Engel-
field’s sudden change of attitude, and indeed of
character. So far as he came to any conclusion at all
about that, he concluded with some self-reproaches
that what he and some others had thought was
arrogance was really a form of shyness, the equiva-
lent in the older man of his own awkward manner.
In his gratitude, in his sense of lively expectation,
he felt now that Professor Engelfield was at heart as
good a fellow as he was a scientist.

So it was a very happy tall young American who
went down, the next evening, on the leisurely little
Great Western train to Ewsbury. He dined off a
meat pie and bread and cheese and beer in a tiny
inn not far from the railway, and began to feel a
new affection for this damp green island. The
countryside down there was one of rounded hills and

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

50

sudden hollows, like fragrant cups of greenness and
blue dusk, and everything seemed to be touched
with mouldering antiquity. Ewsbury itself, how-
ever, which straggled along the road for half a mile
or so, was not lost in the deep silence of the neigh-
bouring hills and hollows. It was enjoying a fair,
a noisy whirl of gilt and coloured lights, which
Hooker passed on his way to the Old Farm. It
seemed quite a large fair for so small a place, and
Hooker, who had a nice taste in roundabouts and
side-shows, was sorry he had no time to explore it.
The Old Farm, an ancient gnome informed him in
a sing-song hard to understand, was about a mile
farther on; so the young man, still carrying the bag
he had been entrusted with, kept his long legs in
motion, waving a farewell to both the fairground
and the ancient gnome who stood shakily looking at
it. If the miserable parody that the English called a
summer had been doing its worst to-night. Hooker
would still have marched happily through it, but
actually the night was fine, very rich in fragrance,
and with a damp green magic of its own. His
thoughts hazily expanded with the wide misty-blue
night itself; anything, he felt, might happen;
miracles were possible in this antique enchanted
kingdom, whose influence might explain the sudden
change in Engelfield, himself transformed— perhaps
like his heavier nuclei— under these mild stars.
Many a time afterwards, sometimes with regret,
sometimes with derision. Hooker remembered that
walk.

Not a light showed at the Old Farm, which re-
vealed itself reluctantly and uncertainly in that
queer dusk as an irregular low house, at the end of

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PR.OFESSOR 51

a wandering drive about three hundred yards from
the road. Hooker tried the front door, but it was
locked. He had arrived first, as Engelfield had said
he might. So he groped his way, past beds of sweet-
smelling flowers and tall damp weeds, round to the
back, where the door was hard to find. It too was
locked. The nearest window, however, was open a
little, and Hooker was able to open it still more, to
let himself in that way, landing awkwardly on a
kitchen table. After that it was easy to find the study
upstairs that Engelfield had described, a long low
room, all beams and nooks and uneven surfaces.
Putting down the bag on the table, a big table with
several piles of books on it, some small files, and a
great many odd sheets of paper, probably notes.
Hooker looked about him comfortably, and decided
that though the place was too low and beamy and
nooky, had too much furniture in it, too many fusty
old things, and the electric light was poor, it would
be a good place in which to work, once a fellow had
completed all his experiments and had his notes in
front of him. For a few minutes he pottered about,
opening and looking out of the broad low'window in
front of the table, and examining some of the book-
shelves, which did not look as if they belonged to
Engelfield. The scattered sheaves of notes on the
table obviously did, however, for familiar symbols
and equations caught his eye. Engelfield had dis-
tinctly said he could amuse himself, if he had to
wait, by trying to decipher these notes. So he wasted
no more time, but sat down to them.

They were very tough going, these notes of Engel-
field’s. To begin with, Engelfield appeared to have
one or two special symbols of his own, and it took

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

52

the young man about ten minutes to discover what
they stood for. The delta symbol could not mean,
as it usually did, merely augmentation, for if so the
notes did not make sense at all. Then the usual
symbol for kinetic energy was missing. Again, some
of the notes were meaningless because the formulae
in them clearly referred to elements that were repre-
sented here by mysterious squiggles that meant
nothing to Hooker. It was all very puzzling, but very
fascinating too, and soon, here in this rum study in
an empty house, far away from anything he had ever
known, in mysterious rural England, Hooker was
fathoms deep in bewildered speculation, chasing
uncertain deuterons and electrons from formula to
formula, now as far away from the surface of things
outside that Oxfordshire village as if he had been
sitting at the bottom of the ocean. There were occa-
sional sounds from outside, sudden voices or passing
automobiles, but they meant nothing to him. The
point was, what did Engelfield mean? He had to set
foot on this new track before the owner of the notes
returned, to make him look an ignorant fool. So
there he was, completely lost to the world around
him, when the door suddenly opened and the place
seemed to be full of people.

Actually, there were three: the large grim brother
Henry, wearing a light overcoat, and two hefty
middle-aged men in blue uniform, obviously police-
men. The one in front with Henry looked a sort of
inspector, and the one at the back, standing just
inside the door, an ordinary constable.

“Now theni” said the inspector, sharply.

Hooker looked up, grinned vaguely, then stood
up. “Hello!” he cried cheerfully, mostly to Henry.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 53

But Henry did not respond. “You see,” he said to
the inspector. Then he turned again. “And look—
there’s the very bag.” And he stepped forward, held
up the bag, suddenly and unaccountably opened it,
and with a dramatic gesture spilt some of its contents
on the table. Valuable metal shone there: little gold
cases, silver-backed hairbrushes, and the like. No
wonder. Hooker thought, the bag had seemed so
heavy. But what was all this about?

The inspector, who had a very long and reddish
nose, looked pleased. “Caught him right on the
job, sir,” he observed, mysteriously.

“What’s the idea?” asked Hooker pleasantly.

This appeared to amuse the policeman. The one
at the back suddenly guffawed. The inspector’s nose
came down to split a wide grin.

“They’re all the same,” he said, still grinning, to
the grim Henry. “Catch ’em right on the job, with
the stuff in their 'ands, and they ask you what the
idear is. English, American— ail alike— it seems. Can
you beat it? Now,” he said, turning sternly on the be-
wildered young man, “I’ll tell you what the idear is,
my lad. You’re caught, fairly caught, not only
’ouse-breaking, but with stolen goods in your pos-
session— i/ I might call your attention to them things
on the table.”

“Here, wait a minute,” Hooker shouted, suddenly
finding himself in a lunatic world, “I was invited
here, and that bag was given to me to bring down
here.”

“Oh? And who gave it to you?”

“He did.” And Hooker pointed to Engelfield’s
brother, coolly standing there.

“I did?” The unspeakable Henry coolly laughed.

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

54

“We don’t want any lip,” said the inspector sternly
to the amazed young man. “Must think we’re fools.
Invited here!”

“And so I was. By his brother.”

“And that’s why you climbed into an empty house
by the kitchen window, eh? Come off it, lad. You’re
doing yourself no good, trying to brazen it out this
fashion.”

“But I tell you,” Hooker shouted, “I was with
them yesterday, at the Savoy Hotel — ”

“You were at the Savoy Hotel all right,” said the
inspector, with satisfaction. “We know all about
that. And a nice bagful you got too.”

“And they asked me to come here to-night — ”

“Just a minute, inspector,” said Henry, as the
policeman was about to interrupt. “We can soon
settle this. I don’t know you— but you say you know
me, eh?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, what’s my name then?”

“Henry — ”

“Yes— but what?”

“Well — ” said Hooker desperately, “Engelfield,
I guess.”

“You see,” the other said calmly to the inspector.
“Claims he knows me and doesn’t even know my
name.”

“Oh— you needn’t tell me, sir,” replied the inspec-
tor. “It’s as clear a case as ever I saw.”

This was the moment when Hooker came to life
again. So far he had been like a man struggling to
overcome some nightmare growth in the world
about him. If he looked at these crazy events hard
enough, he had felt that they would turn ordinary

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 55

and sensible again. As if he had invented this new
Henry and the policemen. But now it was as if he
suddenly realised that they were outside himself,
actual, and menacing. He must do something, and
immediately. In another minute these two beefy
cops would be marching him ofiE somewhere. They
had no real case; the frame-up was monstrous
enough to be almost childish; but he could not help
feeling that once he was marched off, it might take
him weeks, possibly months, to clear himself; and
even at that there would be some people at the Insti-
tute telling each other that Hooker must have been
behaving queerly, that there’s no smoke without fire,
and all the rest of it. He had no idea what happened
to you here in England when the police laid hands
on you— something very leisurely, he imagined— but
whatever it was, it must not happen to him. Some-
thing had to be done— quick.

He was standing close to the table, the narrow
side, not far from the open window. The inspector
and Engelfield’s damnable brother were standing
together, about three yards away, with most of the
table between them and him and the window. The
ordinary policeman was still just inside the door-
way. Hooker was long and lean, but no weed; in
fact, very active and quite strong; and it was only a
few years since he had been one of the star men in
his college basket-ball team. And when it was re-
quired of him, he could both think and act very
quickly.

He appeared to droop miserably and at the same
time contrived to edge a little farther round, nearer
the window, and let his hands fall until they were
underneath the edge of the table, which was long

56 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

and fairly wide but not a very massive piece of furni-
ture. “I suppose you know,” he muttered mourn-
fully to the inspector, still drooping, “I’ve been
framed.” His hands were gripping the under edge
of the table now, and his knees were bent, to give
him a good purchase. He talked slowly, miserably,
feeling sure that tlie sound of his voice would
have a lulling effect. “I’d met his brother before.
He was a professor. He asked me to come down
here, and to climb in at the back if he wasn’t
here first. So I did, and I was just looking at some
notes — ”

As his voice trailed along to the end, he sum-
moned all his strength, then heaved the table over,
with a crash of books and bag and files and a scatter-
ing of papers, so that it fell towards the other two,
who instinctively jumped back. Before they could
recover and run round, while they were still shout-
ing, he had swung himself out of the window and
taken a wild leap into the dark. He went sprawling
in the soft earth below, but was soon up and racing
down the drive. As he went he could hear shouts
behind him. At the entrance a large roadster had
been parked. He hesitated a moment, then saw a
bicycle leaning against the gatepost. He had not
ridden a bicycle for years, but he had had one when
he was a boy, and now he wheeled this out, jumped
on, not noticing which way he was taking it, and
after a few wobbles went sailing down the road at a
fair speed. Fortunately, it was big enough for him,
and he guessed it to be the property of the police
constable. He was adding to his crimes every minute,
it appeared, but didn’t give a hoot. What did give
a hoot, however, in feict several menacing hoots, was

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 57

that big roadster, which was now undoubtedly com-
ing after him.

He heard again the cheerful noises of the fair and
saw its lights glittering before him. Another turn
of the road, and there it was, a few hundred yards
in front, just to the left of the road, witli most of
the village beyond. He decided not to take the
chance of riding the full length of the village street
on that bicycle; even now one of them might be
telephoning from the house to have him stopped; so
just before the entrance to the fair, where the crowd
began and the hawkers were plying their trade, he
dismounted, hastily leaned the bicycle against the
low stone wall, looked back down the road and saw
powerful headlights coming round the corner, so
walked briskly into the fair.

Passing a row of coconut shies and hoop-la and
other stalls, he came to a small side-show, labelled
Nirobi the Mystic Girlj paid his threepence and
quickly dived into the tent, where about twenty
people were staring without noticeable enthusiasm
at a beery man in a turban that didn't belong to him
and at Nirobi herself, a very thin, dirty-looking,
bored girl, who was dancing, in a very perfunctory
fashion, with the equally bored and perfunctory
assistance of a large snake. Hooker was in no mood,
however, to criticise the performance. The point
was, it was dark in there; and perhaps by this time
the roadster and its policeman were a mile or two
farther down the road. Nirobi came to the end of
-^her dance; the snake retired into its basket; and the
beery man in the turban announced that' for an
additional threepence any member of the audience
could purchase the wonderful Indian girl's mystic

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

58

prophecies. As he held up some smudgy little pam-
phlets, the mechanical organ outside exploded into
song, and a voice was heard saying that another per-
formance by Nirobi was about to commence. THhis
had not lasted long enough. As they went out.
Hooker made himself as small as possible, and felt
very sorry that he had left his hat behind at the Old
Farm. It seemed unpleasantly bright outside, too
many lights altogether. And one of the first things
these lights showed him, above the crowd only
about twenty yards away, between him and the en-
trance, was a policeman’s helmet.

Hooker edged himself away in the opposite direc-
tion, and was lucky enough to run into a fellow who
was selling black-and-white paper caps that had large
bright yellow cardboard peaks. With one of these
monstrosities on his head, and the peak pulled well
down. Dr. George Glenway Hooker of the Wein-
berger Institute of Technology felt a little better.
Fortunately, a good many youths were wearing
them. Some of the youngsters, who walked round
arm-in-arm, screaming, were also wearing false noses
and imitation spectacles, and for the first time for
twenty years Hooker felt a keen desire to possess a
false nose, with or without imitation spectacles. On
the other hand, he was convinced that it would not
do at all if a man his size and age solemnly enquired,
in an American accent too: “Say, where can I buy
a false nose?’’ He moved slowly round with the
crowd, a nice silly innocent lot, mostly very young,
and began to wonder if after all he had much to
worry about. That policeman, whose helmet he had
seen, might be on duty here, and not know any-
thing about him. On the other hand, trailing round

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 59

like this, not knowing who might be ahead o£ him, at
any moment he might come face-to-face with one of
his pursuers. And his knees were aching now: it was
hard work trying to be several inches shorter than
Nature had made you. But then he had another
stroke of luck. There, not two yards away, was a
basket filled with false noses, imitation spectacles,
and sets of celluloid teeth. He treated himself
hastily to a very bulbous nose, which had imitation
tortoise-shell spectacle frames attached to it; and
now behind these he felt there was very little of
his former appearance left. His best plan was to
have a good look round the fair.

In the centre of the fairground, its masterpiece, was
a blaring, shining switchback, in which cars shaped
like gilded dragoons and vast staring cockerels
went whirling round and round and up and down.
It stopped for more passengers just as he was making
up his mind. Hastily he climbed into the interior
of some glittering farmyard monster, and noticed
with satisfaction Aat it would be easier to look out
of this curved car than to see, from any distance,
who was in it. They began to move, slowly at first,
up and down; tind there, below, looking about him
sharply, was the inspector. No mistake about that:
it was the inspector all right. They had guessed he
had come in here. Just as the switchback was
gathering speed, and before the whole fairground
had turned into a whizzing puddle of light. Hooker
had time to notice that the inspector was glancing
up at the whirling cars. After that he could not tell
where the inspector was looking, was not even sure
he was still there. Up and down, round and round,
they went, with the organ bleating and blaring, the

6o THE DOOMSDAY MEN

girls screaming, the whole fair a changing scribble of
colour and light. And here he was. Dr. George
Glenway Hooker, holder of a research fellowship in
physics, and just at the very time he had seen him-
self following Engelfield’s trail into the most distant
exploration of deuterons, electrons, neutrons,
photons and nuclei, here he was, wearing a black-
and-white check paper cap with a bright yellow peak,
imitation spectacles and a false nose, careering
round and round, like an electron himself, in the
middle of a country fair. And, police or no police—
by hecki— enjoying it too.

But he had to make sure about that inspector,
so every time the switchback stopped, he slumped
back into his seat, which was at the back of the car,
where the monster’s tail curved round and threw
a dark shadow; and he stayed slumped until they
were moving fast again. This he did five times alto-
gether, and during the last three rides he was trying
to decide what to do. Either he must sneak away
across the fields at the back of the fair and risk having
to wander about out there for several hours more, or
he must try and hide himself in the crowd returning
to the main road, in the hope of getting away sooner.
And whatever he did, he had made up his mind
that he would not return to London but would try
and make for Southampton and his ship. That too
was a risk, but Engelfield and his brother did not
know exactly when he was sailing; and he had too
an obscure conviction that they would not try to
prevent his sailing, even if they could, and that the
fantastic trap they had set for him, which still
seemed to him childish and almost idiotic, was
simply to pay him out for what they considered his

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 6l

impudent curiosity. But he could think about all
that later, he decided; what was worrying him now
was how to escape from this neighbourhood. Then
he saw, in a flash, that his very best plan was to
attach himself to some other person or people, for
it would be a solitary young man that the police
would be looking for, and probably they would not
pay much attention to a noisy group.

There were plenty of noisy groups, but now the
problem was— and Dr. Hooker considered it care-
fully— how to attach himself to one of them. He
was well acquainted with several delicate techniques,
but the technique by means of which one young
American scientist, hiding from the police, became
an accepted member of a gang of Oxfordshire lads
and lasses playing the fool at a fair was quite un-
known to him. He cautiously descended from the
switchback, but could not see the inspector. There
was no blue helmet in sight anywhere. So far, so
good. And now what? He stood hesitating at the
entrance to another side-show {Demo— the Electric
Wonder Man), among a little crowd who were being
roared at by Demo’s showman, when he discovered
that somebody was talking to him. It was a young
man with a round red face, tousled fair hair, and a
canary-coloured pull-over. He was arm-in-arm with
two giggling young women, and he was genially
but definitely drunk.

“Or boy,” he was saying solemnly, “tha’s a hell
of a nose you got there, ol’ boy. For moment, put
wind up me that nose did, ol’ boy. Thought it was—
real. Didn’d I, girls? Ab-so-lulely true, ol’ boy.”
And he wagged his blond tousled head with great
solemnity.

68 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

This was Hooker’s chance, and, feeling less shy
than usual behind this nose, he snapped at it. He
invited the trio to see Demo the Electric Wonder
Man with him, hinting that he knew all about elec-
tricity and could see through fifty Wonder men. So
in they went, with a warm, moist, giggly girl hang-
ing on to Hooker’s arm. Demo’s tricks were stale
stuff to the American, who explained them to his
party. Unfortunately the blond young man in-
sisted on repeating these explanations at the top of
his voice, with the result that they were asked to
leave, and the blond young man nearly had a fight,
and both girls clung hotly and moistly to Hooker,
and it looked like being unpleasant. But Hooker
got the three of them safely out, brought them to a
comparatively quiet dark place behind the show
tent, and there they held a meeting. The girls, who
had been scared, were rather indignant now with
their friend, the blond young man, whose name
was Ronnie. They now declared he had had too
much.

“Properly over-stepped the mark, that’s what
you’ve done, Ronnie,’’ cried one of them angrily.
“And how you’re going to drive us home, I don’t
know— what you say, kid?’’

The other agreed, and would not accept Ronnie’s
assurance that he was quite all right. “Quite all
nothingl” she said emphatically.

Again, this was Hooker’s chance, and he took it.
“Let me drive you all home,’’ he said. The girls
instantly agreed, for now they had great confidence
in the tall stranger with the false nose.

“But it’s Newbury,’’ they told him, doubtfully.
“How’ll you get home?”

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PROFESSOR 65

He waved this aside, made them all link arms
again, and steered the party towards the entrance.
They were a noisy little group all right, and looked
no di£Eerent from dozens of others. And they passed
within two yards of a policeman at the entrance.
Hooker never looked at the face under the helmet;
he was taking no chances; so he never knew if it
was the same policeman who had seen him at the
Old Farm. Whether it was or not, the group system
worked; and five minutes later they were ratding
down the road in Ronnie’s little old open car, with
Hooker at the wheel reminding himself to keep to
to left; and during the next dozen miles they success-
fully passed several policemen. All the way to New-
bury, Ronnie and the girl at the back with him
flirted and quarrelled, slapped and kissed, while the
girl at Hooker’s side talked without ceasing, telling
him about her two sisters, her brother, her brother’s
wife, her uncle in Australia, and all the people she
worked with in the shop. At Newbury, which
appeared to have gone to bed. Hooker removed his
comic nose and hat, was suddenly and very tenderly
embraced by the young woman who had sat by him,,
and was then shown where to wait for a late cross-
country bus that would take him nearer to the coast..
He sat there in the little waiting-room, wearing an
old cloth cap that Ronnie had found at the back of
the car and had insisted upon his taking. The only
other people, a sleepy elderly country couple, sitting
among a host of paper packages, did not seem to
notice anything surprising about his appearance. No
policeman came to disturb them. When the almost
empty bus arrived, and he was able to stretch him-
self out on the back seat, with the cap almost cover-

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

64

ing his face, no questions were asked and there were
no sudden halts. The bus rumbled steadily through
the night towards the sea.

And Hooker, going again over the events of the
evening, remembered now a last shout he had heard
from the inspector, addressed to Engelfield’s brother
Henry. The name he had heard then was one
vaguely familiar to him at home, and he dozed off
muttering it to himself: MacMichael.

CHAPTER THREE

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER

J IMMY EDLIN, who had been in many of the
strange cities of this world, had now returned
to the newest and strangest of them all, that
vast conglomeration and gaily-coloured higgledy-
piggledy of unending boulevards, vacant lots, oil
derricks, cardboard bungalows, retired farmers,
fortune-tellers, real estate dealers, film stars, false
prophets, aflBuent pimps, women in pyjamas turn-
ing on victrolas, radio men lunching on aspirin
and Alka-Seltzer, Middle-Western grandmothers,
Chinese grandfathers, Mexican uncles, and Philip-
pino cousins, known as Los Angeles. It was not
Jimmy’s native city: he had no native city; he was
the son of a wandering Irish-American father and an
English mother; and since his late teens, thirty
years ago, he had roamed the world trying this and
that, and had prospected for gold, dredged for
platinum, sold advertising space, imported watches
and cheap bracelets and fountain-pens, exported
rubber and ivory and Chinese pigtails, been a ship’s
purser, newspaper proprietor (in Alaska), publicity
man, general merchant, owner of a restaurant
(Shanghai), made tidy fortunes and lost them, and
had a roaring good time. For the last few years he
had been in China, chiefly in Shanghai, but had
cleared out when the Japanese came, after convert-
ing a great many Mexican dollars and similar
currency into two respectable banking accounts, one

06 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

in London, the other here in Los Angeles. He had
not returned at once to California, however, but had
gone down to Honolulu, to taste the first fruits of
his temporary retirement, and would still have been
there if he had not received startling and very bad
news. His only brother, Phil, who for years had
been on the staff of the Los Angeles Herald-
Telegram, had been discovered in the back room of
a small down-town caf6— murdered. Jimmy had
caught the first boat— there was only the boat, for
the Clipper was not available— but had landed days
after the funeral, and now the story of the Phil
Edlin murder had vanished from the front pages,
there having been two more murders, a prominent
suicide, one large and two small political scandals,
a juicy film star divorce with “love-nest revelations,”
since then to blacken those pages. Phil Edlin, in
that back room with a great hole in his chest, was
now old news, and was being rapidly forgotten. Yet
there were some, of course, who remembered.

His wife, Florence, had taken it pretty hard.
Jimmy had met her only once before, some years
ago, and had not liked her much. One of these
peevish thin blondes, slopping about the apartment
aH morning, eating candy and turning on the radio,
then spending hours titivating herself up to go shop-
ping or to the movies, never settling down properly
to the job of being a wife, a stenographer without
an office to go to, who thought the twin-bed just
pensioned her off for life, and was always grumbling
because the pension was not bigger every three
months: that is how Jimmy had seen her then. But
now, still in deep black, with the tears welling into
her eyes as she told the damnable story all over

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 67

again, her looks gone to hell, she seemed to him—
as he was easy and rather sentimental in his judg-
ment of women, like most men of his kind— a truer
figmre of a woman than he had thought she was. In-
deed, he felt conscience-stricken, for not only had he
probably misjudged Flo, but he felt too that he
ought to have taken more time off to see poor old
Phil. Too late now, but he was still angry about tlie
murder; and, so far as he could judge, about the
only person in Los Angeles who was still angry, for
the enquiry appeared to have led to nothing, and
even Flo here, who ought to have been an avenging
fury, seemed to accept it woefully and to want to
forget about it. But as Jimmy sat there, listening to
her, his broad good-humoured face, with its im-
pudent nose and Irish actor’s gash of a mouth, was
sullen with resentment, and though his big
shoulders were deep in the chair— he was a heavily-
built man of no great height but square and thick—
his fists were clenched and one bright brown shoe
beat a tattoo on the carpet.

“But Godalmighty!— Flo ’’ he protested at last,

“aren’t they going to do anything? Here’s poor
old Phil— who never did anybody any harm— a good
newspaper man— and they send him round the town,
on their business, mind you— and then when this—
this— happens to him— they don’t do a damn thing—
why— hell’s bells ’’

He pulled himself out of the big chair and walked
over to the window, and there scowled accusingly at
the mellow and faintly unreal sunlight that was
illuminating the Boulevard. He did this to relieve
his feelings, but also because Flo, perhaps moved
by his vehemence as well as her own recital, was now

68

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

crying hard. He waited until her sobbing had
turned to snifiBling, before turning round again.

“You don’t understand, Jimmy,” she wailed,
finally. “They had a long enquiry, and the police
asked a lot of questions— they talked to me for hours
and it was awful— and what could I tell them, any-
how?— and then said it must have been somebody
in that Murro gang— oh!— what does it matter now?
He’s gone, hasn’t he?”

“I know. But why? If he’d been one of these
tough lads, who go round asking for it— I could
understand it. But Phil! He wasn’t that kind of a
fellow at all — ”

"He couldn’t have hurt anybody,” she cried, tear-
ful again.

“That’s what I’m saying. What’s this Murro
gang?”

She dabbed at her eyes, and swallowed hard.
“They said they’d come here from New York— you
know, a lot of them did after they started cleaning
up the rackets there— and Phil’s paper, the Herald-
Telegram, had had a lot of stuff about them— Phil had
written some of it— and so they think one of them
must have done it— and now they say this Murro
gang all left town— I don’t know”— she ended weakly.

He moved about restlessly for a moment, brought
out his pipe then put it back again, and gave his
sister-in-law several glances, half sympathetic, half
impatient. Here was no resolute ally. They could
murder all the Edlins in the world, and she would
just give in. But when she looked at him, he con-
trived a sort of sympathetic grin, and she replied
with a wan little smile.

“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” she said, “but I just want to

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 69

forget about it. You can’t blame me, can you? And
I never want to see this place again. I’m going back
East. My mother wants me to stay with her, and
that’s what Em going to do.”

He admitted it was a good idea. “But what about
money, Flo?” he enquired gruffly. And then, re-
membering what he had first thought of her, he
could not help wondering what this might let him
in for. If there had been any kids, that would have
been different; he would have seen that poor Phil’s
kids were all right, would have enjoyed it too, for
he liked kids and had none of his own that he knew
anything about, not having acquired a genuine legi-
timate wife on his travels, in spite of many strange
adventures with the sex; but he was not too keen on
handing out Flo another pension. Once more, how-
ever, she surprised him.

“Thanks, Jimmy, but I don’t need any. There
was some insurance and the Herald-Telegram gave
me something, though it wouldn’t have killed them

to have given me a bit more— seeing that Phil ”

But she left this alone, and went on: “It isn’t as if
we’d any children, you see.”

“No, that makes it better.”

“It doesn’t,” she cried, almost fiercely. “God!—
I’ll say it doesn’t. And we could have had. It was
my fault. Phil wanted them. And I always said:
‘Oh, let’s leave it.’ Why don’t we know? Oh!— my

God ” And now she suddenly dissolved into a

really passionate storm of weeping, leaving J imm y
to stare at her awkwardly and sadly, and then to
make a few comforting noises and to pat her thin
heaving shoulders. It was some time before she was
calm again.

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

70

“Yes, I’m going back East, perhaps to-morrow,”
she said, at last. “There’s nothing to stay for now.
I’ve done all I can do. I’m sorry you’ve had to come
all this way, Jimmy. What are you going to do?”

“Well, I’m a gentleman o’ leisure just now,” he
told her, grinning a little. “I got out of China in
time, made my little bit, and now I’m just looking
round and enjoying myself— at least, I’d just started
looking round and enjoying myself, when I got this
packet of trouble. Now that I’m here, I might as
well stay here for some time. And I’ve got my old
top floor at the Clay-Adams.”

"Are you still trying to paint pictures, Jimmy?”
she asked, coming for the first time clean out of her
misery.

“Yes,” with a grin, “when I can get at it.” He rras
glad to see her looking more normal now; “You
needn’t tell me you don’t admire my pictures— I
know you don’t— you told me last time, though
mebbe I’m improving. When I meet a nice little
woman who does like my pictures— reaZZy likes ’em
—if she can cook a bit too. I’ll marry her— I will,
by jiminy! And don’t tell me that’s why I’m single,
because I’ve heard that crack too many times. My
pictures are all right— once you get round to under-
standing ’em— and I’ve painted ’em in places where
some people wouldn’t like to stop long enough to
blow their noses.” Having coaxed a smile out of
her, he waited a moment, then went on earnestly:
“Now listen, Flo. You’re clearing out, and I’m not
blaming you. But I’m staying, because this isn’t
good enough, and I want to know more about it. If
it’s a gunman who’s left town, then I’d like to know
more about him and where he’s blown to. Now

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 71

somebody knows more than’s come out. This
wouldn’t be Los Angeles if they didn’t. Now then,
Flo, where do I start? That’s all I want from
you.”

He had time to fill and light his pipe before she
replied. “Phil had a pal on the paper,” she began,
hesitantly. “I didn’t like him much so Phil didn’t
bring him here, but they used to go round together
—sometimes on stories— sometimes on their own.
His names Drew— Rushy Drew they all call him—
and I gave him Phil’s notebook, because he asked
for it.”

“And what does he think about this business?”

“Rushy Drew? I’ve only talked to him once— it
was just after they’d finished the inquest— but— well,
he was like you, Jimmy— he wasn’t satisfied. He said
Phil was on another kind of story altogether round
that time. That’s why he asked me if he could have
the notebook.”

“Where do I find this Rushy Drew, Flo? Down
at the Herald-T elegram office?”

“Well, you know what those reporters are, and
Drew’s an old-timer— always half-drunk if you ask
me. No, the best place to find him is in the far room
at Dan’s Place. It’s just across the square from the
Herald-Telegram. I fancy Rushy’s there half the day
and most of the night.”

“All right, Flo, and thanks. Now is there anything
I can do?”

There was not— and, indeed, he could not help
feeling that she would be glad to see the last of him,
not because of any dislike but because his constant
references to the murder made her unhappy all over
again. Having no particular liking for her himself.

72 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

he was glad to escape from her tearful presence and
the half-shuttered miserable apartment into the
bustle and colour of the city. But he took with him
a steadily smouldering resentment. This was not to
him the old Los Angeles, where he had had many a
spree, sometimes with Phil, possibly with this Rushy
Drew if he could only recall him; this was the city
in which his brother had been murdered, without
so much as an arrest following it. And you couldn’t
coolly bump oflE an Edlin like that— no, sirl The
whole damned place, which had always been pretty
tough, now began to look sinister.

It was not until late that evening that he found
Rushy Drew in the far room at Dan’s Place, a ram-
bling darkish room filled with stained tables, giant
spittoons, cigar smoke, signed photographs of second-
rate heavy-weights, and a thick reek of rye whisky.
He remembered Rushy Drew vaguely when the bar-
man pointed him out: one of those oldish reporters
who never get any older, with a decayed hat at the
back of his grizzled head, a long fruity nose, ash all
over his coat, and the wreck of a five-cent cigar stink-
ing and dying at the corner of his wrinkled dried
lips, which no amount of rye could keep nlbist.

“I’m Jimmy Edlin— Phil’s brother— you re-
member?’’

“Sure! Sit down. Glad to see you. Rye or
Scotch? Hey, Walter, another rye and a Scotch.
Had to come up from Honolulu, hadn’t you? Too
bad! And too damned bad about Phil!’’

Over the drinks Mr. Drew listened while Jimmy
explained his doubts and his determination to know
more. Mr. Drew himself had that look which
Jimmy had often seen before on the faces of news-

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’s BROTHER 73

paper men o£ his type, that weary, sceptical, in-
finitely knowing look of the man who feels that he
is perpetually behind the scenes, and nearly always
the grubbier parts behind the scenes. And if that
look did not produce something valuable, Jimmy
made up his mind not to tolerate it very long. He
had exchanged drinks and doubts with many Rushy
Drews before.

“Well,” Rushy drawled, finally, “I'll tell you. In
the first place, the thing is fairly on the level. They
didn’t know who did it, and I don’t believe there’s
been any covering up— and, believe me, this is one
town where Judas Iscariot could get covered up if
he knew the right people— and he would. But Head-
quarters didn’t know, don’t know now, who did it.
They’re supposed to be still working on it, but
they’ve too many things to work on— and not work
on— right here. The Herald-Telegram played up the
gunman-gangster angle for all it was worth, because
we’ve been running one of these clean-the-city-of-
the-bad-men-from-Brooklyn campaigns, which look
so good and don’t spoil anybody’s friendships. On
the evidence— you’ve seen the clippings, eh?— it could
just as easily have been one of these out-of-town boys
as anybody else; so that was the angle they gave it.
Our valued representative died at his post, helping
to clean up your city— and send the rats back to
Brooklyn and New Jersey, see?”

“I see. And you don’t believe it, eh?”

“You bet I don’t, I know it’s all apple-sauce.”
Rushy was emphatic, but stopped long enough to
order more drinks. “Those boys don’t turn the heat
on to a reporter, unless— like that feller in Chicago
—he’s been playing round with ’em and then tried to

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

74

walk out. And they didn’t come here from New
York looking for trouble— they just wanted to keep
quiet and see what was doing. And Phil had been
ofiE that story for weeks, and had never set eyes on
any of these gunmen from the East, and didn’t
believe there were four of ’em in town. No, sir. All
hokum, and of course they know it at Headquarters
—but— what the helll— they’ve too much to do already
—and they don’t know where to look— you saw the
evidence, and it was all they’d got, believe me— not
a thing to go on— so where are you?”

Knowing his man, Jimmy confessed that he wasn’t
anywhere, but said he felt sure Rushy Drew, who
knew the town and was, into the bargain, Phil’s best
pal, would know something.

“You’re damn’ right I do, though it’s not much.”
Rushy paused for effect, and was not disappointed.
“First, I know— though nobody else— that Phil was
on another kind of story. They don’t even know
that at the desk, because he used to go round when
he’d done his routine stuff and then turn in some-
thing juicy of his own. And he didn’t like to talk
too much before he’d got something. But he’d tell
me now and again, because he knew that I’d been
around here even before he had and knew the town
backwards and sideways. They’ve built the rotten
thing round me while I’ve been sitting here, order-
ing ryes that taste more and more like rainwater.”

“\VTiat was he after, then?” asked Jimmy. “And
has it anything to do with the murder?”

“If it hadn’t, then I don’t know what had. You
know this town. They talk about the lunatic fringe
in these states. Well, here it isn’t a fringe, it’s a solid
seam of God-awful lunacy six foot thick and thirty

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 75

miles long. We’ve more nutty people to the square
mile here than anywhere on God’s green earth.
Every kind, from Hindu prophets with hair down
to their knees to fat women who shave their heads
and think they’re Joan of Arc and Mary Queen of
Scots. They’re all here. Take any boulevard and
in the fourth bungalow on the right they’ll be busy
raising the dead or talking things over with Dante
and Shakespeare. Two doors farther down, they’re
waiting for the new Messiah. Across the boulevard,
they’re sitting about in pink robes or starry pants,
burning incense until the Grand Panjandrum tells
them it’s the Judgment Day. We’ve so many nuts
here, they fall so thick and fast, honest to God I
haven’t been able to get a good laugh out of ’em for
twenty years. It’s just one big loony-bin.”

“And so what?” asked Jimmy, who knew his Los
Angeles and could not imagine what was coming.

“I keep clear of ’em,” Rushy continued, in his
odd bitter drawl. “I’ll see things soon enough. But
Phil had heard one or two rumours, and so he’d
started looking into some of these queer new sects
we have here, and he was right in the middle of it,
up to the very eyes in it, when somebody put him
out.”

“Didn’t you tell them that?”

“I told them at the desk, but— what the hell—
nobody would believe any harm of these religious
birds— and anyivay it’s a lousy angle. We don’t want
bad boys from Brooklyn here, but we extend the
heartiest welcome to all new citizens with a tile loose.
L.A. is their New Jerusalem. Come right in, folks,
and worship how you please! They pay their taxes
and don’t ask too many questions— they’re too busy

>j6 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

with the next world to see what’s happening in this
one— so walk right in and stay!”

“Yes,” said Jimmy dubiously, “I can see all that,
and I know the kind of folks you mean. But I don’t
think there’s anything along that line. Rushy. I
think you’re clean out there.” And his tone ex-
pressed his disappointment.

“Yeah? Well, that’s what I’d have said. But for
two things.” Here Rushy paused, deliberately, mad-
deningly, and coolly relit his cigar and swallowed
some rye. “Not two days before he was put out,
Phil let something drop to me. He told me he
thought he was on to something a whole lot bigger
than the usual nutty stufiE, and asked me if I’d ever
heard of a crowd calling themselves the Brotherhood
of the Judgment. I hadn’t, as a matter of fact; they
were new to me, but as I said, I’ve given it up. But
he said he’d just caught the tail end of a story that
would make every front page from here to Cape
Cod. He wouldn’t tell me any more. Probably
didn’t like the way I laughed and told him I’d heard
all that before. That’s one thing.”

“This might be something. What’s the other
thing? Come on. Rushy. You’re talking to his
brother now. Wasn’t there something about his
notebook?”

“His wife told you, did she? He hadn’t it with
him that night they let him have the works. Left
it at home, which was a bit of luck. I knew he put
down things in it. And I was right. There isn’t
much— just a few remarks about this Brotherhood of
the Judgment— but unless I’m going nuts too— they
look like dynamite to me.”

“Rushy,” said Jimmy solemnly, “I have to see that

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDEIUED MAN’S BROTHER 77

notebook. I’m not playing about. Nobody’s going
to get away with murdering my brother with-
out something happening. I don’t know what
all this means to you, but it means a hell of a lot
to me.”

“Jimmy,” replied the other, in almost the same
tone, “I’ll not only let you see the notebook but you
can have it But whatever you’re going to do— and
I can’t see you can do much— don’t count me in. No,
I’m not afraid— don’t think that— T’d have just as
soon gone out when Phil did instead of still sitting
here bellyaching. But I’m getting on— I’m tired—
and I’ve seen too many queer things happen that
nobody could get to the bottom of— they’re always
happening in this man’s town— and though I’ll tell
you anything I know, or try and find out if I don’t
know. I’m not turning detective, not even for Phil’s
sake.”

“All right, please yourself about that. Rushy, but
I must have that notebook as soon as possible.
Where is it?”

“Up at my place— one room above a mad Mexican
widow just out of South Olive— I just sleep there,
that’s all, and don’t always manage that. But you
don’t want that notebook now, this minute, surely
to God, Jimmy?”

But Jimmy did, and after some further persua-
sion, and two more quick drinks, he almost dragged
the unwilling Rushy out of his haunt, which was
more his home than the one room above the mad
Mexican widow, and moved him firmly towards
South Olive Street.

“Come to think of it,” muttered Rushy, as they
went, “it isn’t a room. It’s just a damned upstairs

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

78

piggery. Ten to one you won’t even be able to sit
down.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” said Jimmy, humorous
but firm. “I’ve been sitting down too long, and I’m
getting too wide behind. But I want that notebook.”

“Christmas bells!” Rushy shouted, as he let them
in, “but it can’t be as bad as this. Either I’ve never
had a good look at it for months or there’s been a
convention in here.”

Jimmy had seen many untidy rooms in his time,
had lived in them himself without much protest,
but this room of Rushy’s beat everything. There was
a bed and a chest of drawers; so much could be
clearly seen; but the rest of the place was a crazy
litter of shabby books, empty cigar boxes, bulging
or overflowing old files, piles of newspapers, odd
shoes, fishing tackle, and miscellaneous rubbish and
muck.

“I know I haven’t had as many as usual,” the
owner muttered, looking bewildered, “but I’ll swear
it wasn’t as bad as this last time I noticed it. Sit
down on the bed, Jimmy. I know where I put that
notebook, though you mightn’t think so.”

He went to the chest of drawers, looked at the
first small drawer, exclaimed in surprise, tried the
next, gave another exclamation, and then, cursing
himself, went rapidly through all the drawers. Blast-
ing his eyesight, he then tried again, going through
them all more carefully this time. Not finding what
he wanted, he looked slowly ^bout the room. Jimmy
waited, smoking his pipe and saying nothing.

At last. Rushy turned, and Jimmy saw that he was
wearing a queer look, half-bewildered, half-fright-
ened, and was suddenly cold sober. “Jimmy Edlin,”

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 79

he began, in an odd quiet voice, “you’ve got to
believe me. Yesterday, I know, that notebook of
Phil’s was in that top drawer. 1 thought I might
have shifted it somewhere else last night, so I’ve
looked through all the drawers. It’s gone, Jimmy.
Somebody’s taken it.’’

“Here, wait a minute. Let’s have a proper look.”

“I tell you, somebody’s been here and taken it.
I knew somebody had been in here the minute I
came in. God knows it’s always a mess, but not just
this kind of a mess. I tell you, Jimmy,” he asserted
passionately now, “somebody’s been all through this
room, looking for something. And the notebook’s
gone.”

There was panic in his voice. He looked at
Jimmy hopelessly. And in the silence that followed,
Jimmy heard the screeching of motor-car brakes
outside, and an odd sinister sound it seemed at that
moment.

“Now wait, before we start getting all excited,”
said Jimmy, with deliberate calm. “Are you going
to tell me that a bunch of religious loonies sent
somebody here to go through your room and take
that notebook? It isn’t sense. Rushy.”

“No? And it wasn’t sense that your brother
Phil ”

“That’s different.”

“Well— is it? And if you can blow a hole in a
feller, I suppose you can go through another feller’s
room, can’t you? I tell you, Jimmy, they’ve been
here— and it’s gone— and I don’t like the look of
things at all.”

“You’re getting the jitters. Rushy. Now
why — ”

8o

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“Listen!” And Rushy held up his hand. Up the
uncarpeted stairs, heavy footfalls were approaching.
Even Jimmy did not feel quite calm, and Rushy was
obviously perturbed. “Coming here,” he whispered,
and held himself rigid. There was a sharp knock.

They looked at one another, and Rushy shook his
head. There was a second and a louder knock.

“Go on,” said Jimmy. “Hell— there are two of
us.” But Rushy did not move, so Jimmy went him-
self and threw the door open wide.

A tall young man in a bright brown suit entered.
“Good evening,” he began, in a smooth plausible
tone. “Now I’d like to interest you gentlemen in
our new day-by-day clothes pressing service, collect-
ing coats, pants, tuxedos, or what-have-you, every
morning, and returning everything the same after-
noon. We guarantee good service ” But any-

thing else he said was drowned by Jimmy's sudden
shout of laughter.

“Well, that's how it is. Rushy,” Jimmy roared,
after they had got rid of the young man. “The big
menace turns into a pants-pressing service. And now
let’s find that notebook. It must be somewhere in
this museum of yours.”

But it wasn’t, and Rushy, who proved that he
knew his way among this litter, was able at last to
convince Jimmy that the notebook really had been
taken, by somebody who had gone through the room
very thoroughly.

“But if they did,” said Jimmy, making his final
protest, “how did they know it was here?”

“How did they know poor Phil was on to them?”

“Perhaps they didn’t,” Jimmy retorted. “I can
think of a dozen more likely ways of being killed.

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’s BROTHER 8l

down-town here. Phil goes into that back room
because he’s made a date there with some fellow — ”

“No doubt about that, except I’ll bet the feller
had suggested that place. It wouldn’t be a woman,
because that wasn’t Phil’s line. Something to do
with a story, you bet your life!”

“Right! But while he’s waiting there— and it’s
late and a tough neighbourhood— anything might
have happened. A couple of Mexican stick-up men
might have charged in ’’

“And not gone through his pockets? Guess again,
Jimmy. That wasn’t any stick-up job. I knew that
from the first, just as I knew it wasn’t any of these
Brooklyn gorillas they talked so much about. No,
sir.’’ He turned and looked about him, muttering,
“Got a bottle of Seagram’s somewhere, and ought
to be able to raise another glass besides that one
with the tooth-brush in. Here we are. Help your-
self, Jimmy, and hurry up, for God’s sake. I’ve got
a mouth like Death Valley.’’ But that made him
think of something else.

“What’s got you?’’ asked Jimmy.

“Death Valley reminded me. Jimmy, I think I
can remember nearly everything he had in that note-
book— I mean, about this Brotherhood of the Judg-
ment— you remember, those were the birds he
mentioned to me. There wasn’t much, all told.
Now wait.” And he stood there, still holding the
bottle of rye and a glass, with his eyes tightly shut,
while Jimmy sat on the edge of the bed, staring at
the astonishing muddle of the room, and hearing,
from somewhere outside, a dance band lolloping
away on the radio. “I’ll have to think this over
when Fm alone,” Jimmy was telling himself.

8a THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“Nothing makes any sense while this wet old file
of headlines is around. He’s just as nutty as the
people he talks about.”

Then Rushy opened his eyes and grinned faintly.
But before he spoke, he took a sharp pull at the rye.
“Now then, if there’s anything I can’t remember,
it’s something that wouldn’t mean a dam’ thing to
you or me or anybody else. He’d written at the top
of the page Brotherhood of the Judgment. Then
something about there being four temples or
arks — ”

“ArksI” Jimmy snorted. “And we’re sitting here,
at our time of life, worrying about people who want
to have arks.”

“Jimmy,” the other warned him solemnly, “the
folks who are nutty enough to want to have arks
might be dangerously nutty. Anyhow, there was an
ark, he thought, in London, one in New York, one
in Chicago— and, believe me, that’ll be some ark,
that one in Chicago— and one, the chief one, here
in L.A.”

“Where?” asked Jimmy, now with an old envelope
and a pencil ready.

“Wait! I’ll get it. He’d scribbled down— now
what was it?— Redondo Boulevard and Centinela—
you know, the avenue, out towards Culver City. All
right then— that’s how he’d started. Then he’d
written something about this lot looking different
from the other nutty religionists. More dangerous.
Something really going on there, behind the
ordinary crazy front they were putting up. Not just
singing hymns and praying and telling each other
how good they are. He was sure about that. And
Phil was no fool, y’know, Jimmy.”

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 83

Jimmy agreed, and waited. So far he had put
down nothing but the two streets. “Go on. That’s
not all, is it?”

“No. I read this page a good many times. Hell!
—it was the least I could do, wasn’t it? Then there
were some queries— you know, the way a feller does
when he’s trying to puzzle something out. One or
two I couldn’t read. But I remember what I could
read— that is, if I read ’em right. Tall man— Abram
Lincoln with a squint— real leader?— don’t think so.
Who is Father John? Why Barstow— Granite
Mountains— Death Valley? What are the— now, wait
a minute, what wzis the word?— I was never sure
about that— but might have been initiates— Y’kaow,
the inner circle— anyhow, we’ll say it was— What
are the initiates really expecting? What duties
are they taking turns at? Are you putting these
down?”

“No. I can remember ’em, and anyhow they
don’t seem to amount to much,” said Jimmy, rather
sulkily. “I don't see why Phil was bothering about
’em. Duties! They could be taking turns with the
collection bag, couldn’t they?”

“Sure! But they might also be taking turns at
putting nosey reporters out of the way. Use your
imagination, Jimmy, for Pete’s sake.”

“Trouble is, you’ve got too much. Rushy. Is that
all?”

“No, at the bottom of the page was something
about a clock.”

“Oh!— clocks are coming into it now, are they?
If you ask me, we might as well be doing a cross-
word puzzle.”

“This is it. Question and answer. When does the

84 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

dock Strike? Then below, the answer: You won’t
hear it. Better put that down, Jimmy.”

“I’ve got it down, though God knows why.”
Jimmy looked at his scribbles in disgust. “When
does the clock strike? You won’t hear it. Well,
Rushy, I think we might just as well go out now and
play Red Indians. We’re on the wrong track. I’ve
thought so all along. Some dirty little down-town
rat killed Phil and daren’t stay long enough after-
wards even to snatch his wallet. You lost his note-
book. And nobody’s been in this room except you
—and I’m not sure even about you.” He was very
contemptuous.

Rushy was annoyed. “Okay, Mr. Wise Guy, you
know it all. But I’ll tell you again what I think-
just because you are Phil Edlin’s brother— and then
that lets me out. He was killed because he was
getting to know too much, and I know for a fact that
the only thing he was deep in was this Brotherhood
of the Judgment story, because he told me so him-
self. He wasn’t a fool; he’d plenty of sense and he
was a dead keen newspaperman; and he wasn’t play-
ing at Red Indians when he went round with that
notebook. I may be a fool, but I’m not such a God-
damned fool that I don’t know where I left some-
thing important, like that notebook, or that I don’t
know when somebody’s been and turned over every
single thing I possess. Forget it— if you like. I’m
not going to do anything, and I’ve told you why.
But don’t come round again to me, Jimmy, to tell
me you’re going to find out who killed Phil, because
I’ll know you’re just talking big. And now that I am
here, I might as well stay here. Want another
drink?”

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 85

“No, thanks, Rushy.” Jimmy was a bit stiff but
also vaguely apologetic. “I’ll get along. Sorry if
I sounded too sharp and sure, but all that stuff just
didn’t seem to fit in, that’s all.”

“We’d know better what fitted in and what
didn’t, if we knew more about the whole cockeyed
business here in this world than we do. I’m an old-
timer, and I’ve seen plenty, and, believe me, Jimmy,
most of it’s taken me by surprise. If somebody had
told me ten years ago that Franklin D. Roosevelt
would be the Czar of these states, I’d have had a
good big laugh. And Hitler and Mussolini and
Stalin weren’t exactly expected either. You don’t
know what’s coming next. Well— I may be seeing
you, Jimmy.”

Oddly enough, Jimmy, thinking it all over in his
hotel that night, staring now and again at the
envelope on which he had scribbled his notes, and
remembering not only everything Rushy had told
him but also the character of his brother Phil, was
far less confident than he had been up in Rushy’s
room. There might be nothing in it; but now he felt
that at least it was his duty to make sure. If Phil
had thought this Brotherhood of the Judgment was
worth his time and attention— and Phil was not the
fellow to chase wild geese, unless under orders—
then he, Jimmy, with time on his hands and a
brother’s death on his mind, could not afford to
ignore completely this trail, broken, dim, fantastic
though it might appear to be. No, the least he could
do was to have a look at the Brotherhood, even
though he still could not come near convincing
himself that its members— probably a lot of idle
women and retired Bible-reading farmers— were

86 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

capable of house-breaking, robbery and murder.

He did not start at once, however, in the morning.
He felt dubious, troubled, with an uneasy night
behind him, and so, wearing nothing but shirt, pants
and slippers, and puffing away at his pipe, he spent
the morning painting from memory a scene he
thought he remembered from the voyage, com-
pletely ignoring the golden, early October morning
outside, which was flooding the whole wide city with
its own heavy and hazy sunlight. Even among the
world’s most mistakenly enthusiastic, untrained
daubers, Jimmy could be considered unique. He
was so bad that he was almost great. He neither
knew nor cared much about drawing; what he liked
to do was to lay on plenty of colour; but it was the
quality of his colour that gave Jimmy’s efforts their
astounding character. His blues and greens, pinks
and purples, all seemed to have come out of some
horrible chemical works; they looked like poisonous
acids; they had a metallic sheen that set the teeth on
edge; they suggested neuralgia in pigment; and
when Jimmy had worked away with these nightmare
hues, composing them into what looked like lumps
of coloured cotton wool until at a closer inspection
they revealed their full metallic hideousness, the
result was downright terrifying. Canvases pre-
sented solemnly by him to wincing friends were to
be found, after a hard search at the back of lumber-
rooms, all over the world; for though Jimmy liked
nothing better than to paint and then to look with
pleasure at his creation, he was no hoarder of his
pictures; he gave them away freely; and it is a tribute
to his friendly soul that so many people had accepted
them and even forced up a smile of welcome for the

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’s BROTHER 87

framed horrors. All this morning, then, he spent
happily conjuring the Pacific into what appeared to
be a dreadftil vat of copper sulphate solution, and
creating above it an electric-blue sky that instantly
suggested a blinding headache. And he was able
to finish this monstrous libel in time to give his
widowed sister-in-law a ferewell lunch.

Afterwards, strolling idly down Figeroa, deciding
again to try and see what Phil had been after among
the Brotherhood of the Judgment, he found himself
regretting that he was alone; not just alone at that
moment, but with no companion on this adventure
—if it was to be an adventure, which he still
doubted. Rushy Drew was clearly no use; even if he
had not made it plain himself, Jimmy would have
rejected him. Jimmy reflected that he knew at least
a dozen fellows round the tovra, but not one of them
could be considered a friend. He had made a great
many friends, the real thing, on his various travels,
for he was a companionable soul, as gregarious as a
starling, but they were all thousands of miles away.
A shame too, for some of them would have been
useful at this sort of investigation, though Jimmy,
who held never suffered from any sense of inferiority,
considered that he was pretty good at it himself. It
would not take him long to find out if there was
anything in this Brotherhood nonsense. And he
went over Phil’s queries again.

But it was not until the middle of the evening
that he actually found his way to the local Ark of
the Brotherhood. Phil’s directions, just the mention
of Redondo and Centinela, had not been too clear,
for the building was certainly not at the comer
where the two roads met. It was somewhere

88 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

between them, and it took some finding, for it
turned out to be at the end of a narrow side-turning.
It looked like any other chapel, and might have once
belonged, Jimmy thought, to some other sect. There
was nothing suspicious and secret about the oiitside
of the building. Apparently he was just in time for
some sort of service, for a few people were going in.
An illuminated sign told him that everybody was
welcome. He went in, but told himself he was a
fool to let himself in for some dreary hymn-singing
service.

A rusty little man, with thick spectacles, stopped
him just inside the entrance. “Good evening,
brother,” he said, in a melancholy voice. “Are you
a member of our Brotherhood?”

“No,” said Jimmy cheerfully. “Just looked in.
All right, isn’t it?”

“Most certainly,” said the little man. “All are
welcome to our public services. But kindly seat
yourself at the side there— anywhere at that side—
because the other seats are reserved for our
members.”

So Jimmy went down an aisle, between rows of
yellow little wooden chairs, and as he had come to
see as much as he could, he went as far down as pos-
sible. It was a longish narrow building, with a great
deal of yellow wood about it, not too brightly lit.
Here at this end was a carj>eted platform, with a
small organ behind it, and in the middle of the plat-
form there was a reading-stand covered with black
velvet. The only decoration was an immense dark
banner, hanging down above the organ, and on it
had been painted, very vividly and imposingly, an
immense single eye, which appeared to look down

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 89

on the scattered congregation with no enthusiasm.
Jimmy was not intimidated by that eye. ‘'You’re
phoney, my lad/’ he told it. At his side of the plat-
form, just behind the three or four steps that led
down from it, there was a door in the back wall,
before which two middle-aged and rather large
brethren were standing, as if on sentry duty.

He now looked across at the members, of whom
there might have been about a hundred. There
were both men and women, but not far more women
than men, as he had expected to find; and he soon
noticed that there were hardly any young people
there. They were nearly all middle-aged or elderly,
and a hard-faced lot, many of them with a strong
weather-beaten look, not like city folks. But it was
not easy to see most of their faces in that light. The
ones he could see he did not much care for, for they
had a beaky, bony, tight-mouthed look about them.
The dozen or so people who were sharing the seats
at the side with him were a nondescript collection,
except the one person who was sitting on the same
short row that he Tvas in, actually only two chairs
away. She looked all wrong in there, and, after a
few glances, he had an idea that she felt all wong
too. She had a nice impudent little hat on, and was
herself a nice but not impudent little woman,
perhaps about forty, with a rather flushed soft face,
very bright eyes, and, he thought, pretty greyish
curls; altogether as nice, bright, perky, chirpy a little
woman as he had seen for months. "You’re all right,
you are,” he told her silently, after the third or
fourth glance, "and I’ll bet any money this is both
your first and last time here. Like me. Good luck
to you!”

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

90

She had been looking about her dubiously and
had stolen one or two quick glances at Jimmy, who
at last, after they had waited there for about ten
minutes, ventured to give her a friendly grin. She
did not look ofEended, so he leaned her way and whis-
pered: “When do they start?”

“I don’t know.” She had a nice clear little voice
too, and the merriest inch of nose you could wish
to see. A merry litde tinker of a woman, no doubt
about that, and worth a thousand of these long-faced
psalm-singers in here. “I’ve never been before.”

“Nor me either.”

She seemed glad to be able to talk to somebody,
and went on; “I overheard two women talking about
it— so I thought I’d see what it was like.”

“Doesn’t look much to me, so far,” said Jimmy, as
if he was a great taster of sects and services.

“No.” She drew that out as if she were dubious.
“But — ”

“But what?”

“Haven’t you noticed some of these folks, especi-
ally the ones in front?” Here she lowered her voice.
“I may be fancying things— I don’t like it in here,
anyhow— but they all look crazy to me, I mean, really
crazy, mad people. Honestly, I mean it. You notice
their faces. They have just that look. I wouldn’t
be left alone with some of ’em, not for anything.
Batty! Honestly! And not just nicely batty, like
some people, but miserable, cruel batty. Oh!— they
must be starting.” And she leaned back, and looked
straight in front of her, like a good little girl.

At first, only the organ growled and rumbled at
them, as if it had had quite enough of this sort of
thing. Then an elderly man with a long upper-lip

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 9I

and a grey chin-beard mounted the platform, and
asked them to sing with him. Jimmy had the
pleasure of sharing a book -with the little woman,
who sang a bit in a shy soprano; but Jimmy only
grimted vaguely, and did not care for tlie hymn,
which was all about blood, as if it had been com-
posed in a slaughter-house. Then the elderly man,
in an angry nasal voice, read a long piece from the
Bible, all about angels standing at the four comers
of the earth, and another angel telling them not to
hurt the servants of God, who were sealed on their
foreheads, and then a lot of stuff about tribes, of no
great interest unless you were in the know, and then
some pretty grim talk about washing people white
in the blood of the Lamb.

" ‘They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any
more,’ ” the elderly man concluded, not sounding
angry now but very loud and shrill, “ ‘neither shall
the sun light on them, nor any heat . . .’ ”

And now from the rows of people in front there
came surprising cries and groans and triumphant
shouts, in fact all kinds of quite savage noises; and
some of them raised their hands and shook them
hard; and one woman made a gurgling sound and
fell back, as if in a faint; and one man, a big chap
with the voice of a bull, yelled Halleluyah!

“You see!’’ Jimmy heard the little woman whisper
urgently and with a slight quaver. “I don’t like this
at all.”

“Anybody can have it for me,” said Jimmy.

Now they were all praying, led by a passionate
skeleton of a man in a black coat much too large for
him. He was, however, a most fluent and powerful
leader of prayer. He asked Jehovah to look down on

92 the doomsday men

them, sealed in his service, and to abate his wrath a
little while, until all who could be sealed were safe in
the fold, and then to let go his wrath for all it was
worth, fulfilling the most terrible prophecies, it
seemed, with hail and fire and blood and darkness
and wormwood for everybody except the faithful
few. Punctuated as it was by groans and loud
Amens, his long prayer, delivered with a terrible
sincerity, with an outward force expressing an in-
ward fury of impassioned conviction, began to have
its effect even on Jimmy’s sceptical mind. Some-
thing stirred uneasily in the depths of his being.
And he knew that the little woman, now rather
closer than she had been, distinctly trembled once
or twice.

“It’s all right, y’know,” he told her, when it was
all over, and they were about to sing again.

“I know it is. I know it can’t happen,’’ she whis-
pered confidingly. “But I just hate the way he
wants it to happen. It’s the people that frighten me,
not what they say. And I’ll be glad when it’s over,
won’t you?’’

At the end of this hymn, the elderly man with
the chin-beard announced that their local leader.
Brother Kaydick, would talk to them. Brother Kay-
dick, a tall, rather imposing figure, came out through
the door at the back. At first, Jimmy thought he
must have seen him before somewhere, and it was
not until Brother Kaydick had begun talking, in a
deep resonant voice, that he remembered. This was
undoubtedly the man that Phil had described as
Lincoln with a squint. It was a very good descrip-
tion. This man had Lincoln’s lean height and long
dark face, but the face lacked the statesman’s noble

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 93

breadth and the eyes were wrong. He looked like a
squashed-in, not quite sane Lincoln. And suddenly,
for no reason that he was immediately aware of,
Jimmy’s scepticism left him. It was not simply
because Phil had described a man who now
appeared: that proved nothing, except that Phil had
probably attended one or two of these meetings.
No, it was not that; yet now he suddenly felt certain
that he had been wrong and Rushy had been right,
that Phil had guessed there was something really
queer, menacing, about these people, who had some-
how discovered that he knew too much. He did not
reason about it at all. The conviction came in a
flash. Meanwhile, Brother Kaydick was talking to
them, and being listened to with profound respect
He began by making various announcements,
mostly relating to special services, and also by giving
some brief news of the Brotherhood’s activities in the
three other centres. Then, after quoting by heart a
text or two from the Book of Revelation, with
growing fervour he addressed them, asking them to
remember what the greatest and wisest of the Old
Testament prophets had said, what was to be found
in the Book of Revelation, -which must be regarded
as the keystone of the Bible, and to look about them,
to reflect upon the present condition of the world,
and to ask themselves if all things were not working
together for the end so long and gloriously
prophesied. What was the whole world now, into
which children were still being bom, but the spec-
tacle of that woman arrayed in purple and scarlet,
seated upon the seven-headed beast -with its names
of blasphemy, carrying her gold cup filled -with
abominations and filthiness of her fornications?

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

94

The beast had seven heads— yes, and what were now
the great powers of the world? They too were seven
—the United States, Britain, Russia, France, Ger-
many, Italy, and Japan. Where were the blas-
phemies? They were everywhere. The whole
earth was now Babylon, drenched in the blood of
saints and martyrs. Did not every power in the
world make war with the Lamb, as the Bible said
they would; and shall not the Lamb overcome them,
as also it was said? Had not all nations drunk of the
wine of the wrath of the fornications of Babylon?
Were they not more besodden with them every day?
Were the most terrible words of the ancient prophets
thus to be mocked? Had not a voice from Heaven,
as it was prophesied it would, already spoken to
them, and was not that why they were gathered
together, the brothers and sisters of the Judgment?
The Judgment was certain, nor could it come too
early, but they who were already sealed in the ser-
vice of Heaven must be prepared not only to
welcome but also to serve the Judgment, for Heaven
worked in mysterious ways and its servants were
abroad on the earth even now, a faithful few, as they
were in the olden time. And there was much more
in this vein, delivered with great fervour and with
something like real oratory.

Jimmy listened with growing uneasiness. There
was something here, behind the words, though they
were strong enough, that he did not understand.
The man was a crazy fanatic, like many of them
there, but there was about him a sense of certainty
that could not easily be laughed away. He knew
something, and though that something might be ex-
plained here in terms of Bible prophecies and the

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 95

like, Jimmy could not help feeling that there was
more to it than that. Somehow, listening to him
and looking at him, you could not dismiss his talk
to some vague crazy vision of Babylon and old
Jewish prophets.

Finally, Brother Kaydick announced triumph-
antly, while his listeners made enthusiastic sounds:
“I have a message for you from our beloved leader.
Father John. It arrived this very evening. Father John
commands me to tell you, brothers and sisters of the
Judgment, that out there, in his lodge in the wilder-
ness, he is praying, and there are signs of an answer
to his prayers, that he is seeing visions, and that soon,
very soon, what he sees in these visions will come to
pass, so that the Word may be fulfilled. He asks
for the even deeper devotion and service of those
who are sealed, and for the thankful prayers of all
members. To-night’s public service is ended, except
for the singing of the usual hymn. Will Servers Eight,
Eleven, Fifteen and Twenty-three, join me in the
smaU room?”

It was then, while Brother Kaydick was making
for the door at the back and the elderly man was
reading the first lines of the hymn, that Jimmy came
to a decision. As the organ began, he found himself
sharing the book again with the little woman.

Jehovah said “Vengeance is mine”

The sinful could not flee,

they sang lustily.

“Listen,” whispered Jimmy urgently. “You don’t
know me and you mustn’t think I’m crazy. This is
serious. I’m going round to the back in a minute.”

g6 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“Oh!” cried the little woman, in dismay. “You’re
not going to join them, are you?”

“Not me. But I have to know more about ’em,
and I’m going to try something on.”

When Pharaoh and his hosts were drowned
In the Red devouring sea

the others roared happily.

She looked up at him, her delightful little round
face puckered with bewilderment and doubt. Cer-
tainly her curls were grey— or greyish— but they were
very charming, only making her eyes seem brighter.
Even at that moment he could not help wondering—
and it came in a flash— if by any possible miraculous
chance she would like his pictures. “I thought you
were the one person who was all right,” she said,
dubiously, rather reproachfully. “And now you’re
talking queer.”

“No, I’m not. Can’t explain now. But my name’s
Jimmy Edlin, and Em staying at the Clay-Adams.
Are you on the end of a telephone?”

“Well— yes,” she replied, still doubtful. “I’m at
my cousin’s— only for a day or two— down here at
Inglewood — ”

It rained for forty days and nights
After that Ark was sealed

they chanted triumphantly.

Jimmy lowered his head a little, to speak close to
her ear. “I asked because I want to give you a
message later on to-night or early in the morning,
to say I’m still all right. If a message doesn’t come
through from me— and, don’t forget, Jimmy Edlin’s

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 97

the name— say, by to-morrow morning at ten, send
the police along here. Yes, I mean it.”

“Gracious me! But couldn't you — ”

“I want to get on with it now,” he continued,
“and I believe Fm taking a chance. So you’ve got
to help me. Don’t worry. It’ll probably be all right,
but I’d like to be prepared. Do you mind giving
me your name and telephone number, please?”

Still bewildered, she gave them. Her name was
Mrs. Atwood, and at once he hoped she was a widow.
“I’ll ring up your husband if you’re prefer it,” he
told her quickly.

“I haven’t a husband any more. Haven’t had for
five years. Now do you really mean this? It’s not
some silly game, is it?”

The walls of Jericho were strong
But then the trumpet blew

they proclaimed joyfully.

“Do I look like a man who’d play a silly game
with you?” he demanded.

“Yes, you do,” she told him, coolly. “But I can
see you’re serious now. Now, if you don’t ring up
to say you’re all right by ten in the morning, you
really want me to tell the police?”

“That’s it.”

“I never heard of such a thing! But I don’t think
I’d mind seeing some of these folks get a crack
over the head— rvith their blood and Babylon and
miseries! Do some of ’em good! But what are you
going to do, Mr. Edlin? And why do you think
something might happen to you?”

“Can’t tell you now.”

“Then you’ll have to tell me when you telephone.

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

98

Making me so curious! Else I’ll think you’re just a
show-off. You’re not, are you?”

“Sometimes.” He grinned. “But not this time, I
give you my word.”

The earth shall he our Promised Land
And Satan reign no more

they concluded confidently, and the organ rumbled
on alone. Jimmy gave a final look of understanding
at the nice little widow’s bright eyes; she nodded
and smiled at him as she passed; he watched her
trip down the aisle a moment; then he turned and
went towards the door through which Brother Kay-
dick had disappeared. He had no proper plan, but
he had often been content before to let instinct
guide him, and now was willing to risk it again.
The two large brethren, a tough pair at close
quarters, were still doing duty, and now they
promptly stopped him.

“I want to see Brother Kaydick in there,” he
explained. “It’s important.”

“But you are not a member of our Brotherhood.”

Now for it! “Yes, I am. Tell him I’ve just arrived
from the centre— the Ark— in London.”

“From London?”

“Yes, and not only a member, my friend,” he con-
tinued, with an easy air of confidence he did not
feel, “but also a Server. Number Nineteen— London.
And, I tell you, it’s very important.”

“I’ll tell Brother Kaydick,” said the older of the two,
and left Jimmy with his colleague, a gloomy raw-
boned chap who looked as if he had spent the first
thirty-five years of his life behind a plough some-
where and had not enjoyed it. He continued to eye

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’S BROTHER 99

Jimmy, who knew only too well that his appearance
was not in his favour. With his heart thumping a
little, Jimmy could only hope that they would decide
that a brother from London might be excused so
worldly an appearance. Then the other returned
and took him down a short corridor and into a small
room, which might have served once as a vestry. On
one wall was a large map, and on a desk in the far
comer were files and piles of booklets and what
looked uncomfortably like a couple of boxes of
revolver ammunition. There were five men in
there: the imposing Brother Kaydick, with his dark
height and menacing squint; and the four Servers
whose numbers had been called out, four hefty, big-
boned, hairy-wristed fanatics, who looked a very
tough proposition. This w'as no joke at all. He was
in for it now. And under Brother Kaydick’s doubt-
ful, searching look he felt more wildly unlike any
possible Broker of the Judgment, from London or
anywhere else, than he had done before. Unless he
bluffed like blazes, he decided, this was not going
to be a very healthy adventure.

“Well, friends,” he said ingratiatingly, as they con-
tinued to examine him as if he were a talking
alligator, “I am very glad to be able to report to
you— at last.”

“You say you are from our ark at London?”

“Yes,” replied Jimmy, hoping he did not sound
too unsure of himself. It was not easy to meet
Brother Kaydick’s pronounced squint. “Fm— er—
Number Nineteen.”

There was a look of surprise, still mixed darkly
with doubt, on their five long faces. Perhaps the
brethren in London didn’t have numbers. Perhaps,

100 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

even if they did have numbers, there never had been
a Nineteen. Perhaps

“Number Nineteen— from London,” Brother Kay-
dick was repeating slowly, and to Jimmy’s ear as if
he did not like the sound of it at all. Then, very
quietly and casually, he enquired: “When does the
clock strike?”

So that was it. Thank God he remembered!

“You won’t hear it,” Jimmy told them all. And
gave them a smile too.

This certainly made a diflEerence. Their faces were
not the kind that clears easily, but undoubtedly they
now cleared a little.

“You are welcome, brother,” said Kaydick with
grave politeness. “We were surprised because we
had not been warned of your coming.”

“No. I— I — ” and now what? Why was he there?
What was the line now? Out it came: “You see,
I’ve a very important message for Father John.”

“You can give it to me, brother. I will see that
Father John receives it.”

That would get him nowhere, and, besides, what
on earth was the message? “Sorry, Brother Kaydick.
I know what a big— that is, I know what your posi-
tion is here— we all know that, of course— but I was
told to give this message to Father John himself.
So I want to know where he is.”

Brother Kaydick did not look pleased. The other
four merely stared. “It would be better,” said Kay-
dick slowly, “to let me have the message so that I
can send it to our leader.”

“I dare say, brother. But— well, those were my
orders.”

“I shall be communicating with Father John to-

ADVENTURE OF THE MURDERED MAN’s BROTHER lOI

night,” Kaydick continued. “And I will tell him
you are here. No doubt one of our Servers will be
instructed to meet you at Barstow, and then will
either take you to Father John or will accept the
message. You will probably have to leave the
message there with him.”

“At Barstow?”

“Yes. On the Mohave Desert. There!” And
Brother Kaydick pointed to it on the large map.
“Be there to-morrow evening— you may go either by
road or on the railway— and wait at the Harvey
House there. You will know the Server who is sent,
of course, by asking or answering the question about
the clock striking.”

“There’s just another thing,” said Jimmy, rather
desperately. “In London— I wasn’t given Father
John’s name among— er— unbelievers— his ordinary—
I mean, his— er— worldly name. And I was told that
you would give it to me here— y’know, in case I
might need it up there on the desert.”

To Jimmy’s instant relief, this did not surprise
Brother Kaydick, who nodded gravely, then
scribbled something and handed the folded slip of
paper over to Jimmy, who felt it would be better
to read it outside. So now, after repeating that he
would be at the Harvey House, Barstow, the follow-
ing evening, to meet the messenger, he withdrew
at once, telling them that he was tired and must
rest before his trip. Then, conscious of the pleasant
task before him of telephoning Mrs. Atwood that he
was all right so far, in the light of a lamp outside
Ee read the name of the mysterious Father John,
leader of these grim fanatics.

It was John MacMichael.

CHAPTER FOUR

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW

T he little town of Barstow does not cut much
of a figure on the map— there it is, a dot
on the Mohave Desert— but once there, or
even if you are only on the way there, you realise it
has its own importance. It may now have several
hotels, gasoline stations, drug stores, bars, pool
rooms, and a motion picture theatre, all bravely
picked out in neon lights, but it remains what it has
always been— an oasis in a desert. And its situation
is imjxvrtant. Two main roads enter it from the
West: one coming down from Bakersfield and
Central California; one coming up from San Ber-
nardino and Los Angeles. Two equally good roads
leave it eastwards: one wandering over the barren
hills until it reaches Needles and enters Northern
Arizona: the other going forward into Nevada and
taking the tourist to the new magnificence of
Boulder Dam. Moreover, the little town is on the
main line of the Santa F6 railroad, and now it sees
the silver-gleaming, stream-lined coaches of the Chiej
and Super-Chief, caravans to and from the Arabian
Nights of Hollywood. There is a new hotel now,
facing the main street, but the older hotel, operated
by the Fred Harvey Company, a building in the
Harvey tradition of compromise between Spanish^
Indian and Chicago styles, still does a brisk trade
down by the railroad tracks.

102

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW 103

On this October evening, howevei, there was
only one guest in the dining-room of the Harvey
House. Over in the lunch room, where you eat at
the circular counter, there were plenty of customers,
chiefly railroad workers, washing down slabs of pie
with hot coffee. But the bright lights in the aston-
ishing floral candelabra of the dining-room shone
extravagantly in this desert only to illuminate one
guest and a solitary waitress. The guest was
dubiously examining one of those hard lumps of
lettuce decorated with bits of pineapple and grape-
fruit and cheese and smeared all over with a thick
pink paste, which are considered by all American
caterers to be salads. The waitress, a severely
virtuous young woman in spite of her musical
comedy uniform and musical comedy make-up, was
examining the guest. He was a very handsome young
man and was wearing a brown tweed coat, a pretty
blue shirt and tie, and neat grey flannel trousers.
His hair was fair and rather wavy; he was nicely
tanned; he had a charming shy smile and an English
accent; and the waitress, who noticed all these things
and fifty more, hoped that he was one of those young
Englishmen who were now finding their way to
Hollywood. Here she was both right and wrong, for
the young man, Malcolm Darbyshire, had just come
from Hollywood, but he was no film actor but an
architect, who had been fortunate enough to wangle
the job of conferring with an impatient client of his
firm who wanted to build a house near the English
studios. And Malcolm, pulling every possible string,
had not wangled the job simply because he liked
the idea of a nice long trip from London to Los
Angeles (though he did not despise it), but because

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

104

for the last six months he had found himself a
dreamy, a haunted, a lunatic young architect, des-
perately in love with a mysterious girl, a sad sleep-
ing beauty of a girl, a bewitched princess of a girl,
with whom he had played tennis and exchanged a
kiss. And he was here, poking at a fantastic salad, in
Barstow, when he ought to have been returning
home, because he had been told that Andrea
MacMichael might possibly be found somewhere in
this desolate region.

The waitress did not know all this, of course, but
perhaps some mysterious intuition of the handsome
young man’s state of mind, at once idiotic and won-
derful, reached her, so that there was a certain sym-
pathetic tenderness in the way in which she now
placed before him two dishes of vegetables and a
plate of lamb chops. She was rewarded with another
charming smile, though it seemed a trifle absent-
minded. And well it might be, for Malcolm found
himself now, after six months’ haunted lunacy, living
in a fantastic dream. He could not come to any sort
of sensible teims with this vast continent, with its
dusty plains and great mountains and hundreds of
enormous rivers, its immense darknesses and sudden
glare and glitter, its railway trains like small towns
on the move, its incomprehensible mixture of
cruelty and kindness, cleverness and stupidity, daring
and cowardice, its equally mysterious politics, jokes,
drinks, salads: and the whole monstrous thing had
been crammed down his throat with one colossal
shove. And now here he was, at the end of a dusty
day, miles from anywhere that made any sense at
all, in the middle of a desert that looked like a
scrubby Sahara, looking for a girl who probably

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW IO5

never wanted to set eyes on him again. He was, he
knew, behaving like a complete and hopeless chump,
unfit to be a member— and only a recent young
member too— of the Royal Institute of British
Architects. Yet he could not help feeling that he was
also a glorious chump. He could not be certain if
Andrea was really in this part of the world at all,
yet already these barren hills, the roads he had seen
running out to nowhere, this little town, were in-
vested with glamour, as if they existed in a fairy-tale
^TOrld. Before coming in to dinner, he had stood on
the bridge, stretching its white length over a river
that wasn’t there, and had stared at a sunset,
immense, fiery, startling, that had ended tlie day as
if it had been an epic; and though it was all so
remote and strange, and at last the mountains had
turned black and were like a savage silhouette
against the pale-green receding sky, and the very
first stars seemed to tell him he was in another
world, he had been oddly comforted in his folly.
Anything, it seemed, might happen here, even the
reappearance of Andrea, and possibly an Andrea he
could understand.

Malcolm looked up from his lamb chops, which
were not so tender as the waitress had been, to
observe that that young woman was now pouring
ice-water into the glass of another guest, who was
accepting that solemn ritual, which almost appeared
to be the new American substitute for grace, with
the grave calm of a fellow-citizen. He had seen this,
chap once or twice before: a tall untidy chap with
shocking clothes flapping about him, but a pleasant,
thoughtful-looking fellow, perhaps a year or two
older than himself. They had, in fact, exchanged a

H

106 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

nod and a word. Malcolm wished now he had
suggested that they shared a table, for this American,
though he was not dressed in the semi-cowboy rig
of these parts, might know the district and the
people in it. So far Malcolm had not asked any-
body about the MacMichaels. He had only arrived
from the Coast that afternoon, and he shrank from
enquiring about his beloved at the hotel desk.
Obviously Andrea and her millionaire father didn’t
live here in this little town, and now Malcolm could
not imagine where on earth they could live. The
large map hanging in the little entrance hall had
been anything but a comfort, for it simply showed
him hundreds of miles of desert, sprinkled with
grim names like Granite WellSj Dry Silver Lake,
Devil’s Playground, Death Valley. Talk about a
needle in a haystack! This was like looking for one
wisp of hay in twenty thousand mountainous acres
of needles.

As Malcolm lit a cigarette and wondered how to
open a conversation with the tall young man in the
other comer, another man arrived. But this new-
comer waved away the waitress, and stood in the
middle of the room, looking at the two who were
seated there. Then Malcolm saw him go to the
other comer, say something to the tall young man,
who looked up, frowning his surprise. In half a
minute the interview was over. Now the newcomer
came to Malcolm. He was a broad, plump, middle-
aged fellow with a wide mouth and a snub nose and
a general air of cheerful impudence, though at the
moment he was looking rather solemn and mys-
Aerious.

“Say,” he began, in a rich conspiratorial whisper.

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW 107

coming so close that Malcolm could see a bright
green stripe in his rich brown suit, “when does the
clock strike?”

“What clock?” asked Malcolm. “I’m afraid I
haven’t noticed a clock. But if you want to know
the time — ”

“No, no, that’s all right,” replied the broad, green-
striped man apologetically. “Just forget I spoke.
It’s a gag— just a gag.” And out he went.

Malcolm took his cigarette over to the other table.
“Hope you don’t mind my coming over — ^?”

“Surely not! Sit down.”

“Thanks! Have a cigarette? I was wondering if
that fellow who’s just gone out asked you about a
clock too.”

“He did,” replied the tall young man, grinning.
“Then said it was a gag.”

“Yes. What did he mean— a gag? A joke?”

“That’s it. He looked the type too.” And the
tall young man finished his coffee.

“’Tbere doesn’t seem anywhere to sit in this hotel
—no bar or anything.”

“No. Some bars up town, if you want a drink.”

“I don’t particularly,” replied Malcolm, “at least,
just now. I suppose you wouldn’t care for a stroll?”

“Certainly.” He stood up, then looked solemnly
at Malcolm, who knew at once that he was now
about to introduce himself. “My name’s Hooker.”

“Mine’s Darbyshire.”

“English?” asked Hooker.

“Yes.”

“Thought you were,” continued Hooker, as they
went out. “I was over in England this summer.
Had a nice time— mostly.”

108 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

After leaving the hotel, they turned away from
the town, and strolled towards the bridge where
Malcolm had watched the sunset. The night was
cool, almost cold after the heat of the day, and very
clear, with a fine show of stars, among which
Malcolm noticed several familiar constellations at
odd angles in unusual parts of the sky. That made
him feel a long way from home. He could feel too
a sense of immense distance, remoteness, in the
velvety blackness of the country all round him.
Meanwhile, he and Hooker had exchanged a few
confidences about their respective jobs.

“But you’re taking a holiday out here, I suppose,”
said Malcolm.

“I’ve just been back to the Institute, since I was
in Europe,” replied Hooker. “Research is my job,
not teaching, so I can come and go more than most
of others. But I wouldn’t quite call it a holiday—
I had my holiday this summer— in fact, I don’t know
what I’d call this particular trip— a piece of foolish-
ness, I guess.”

Malcolm’s heart suddenly wanned to the chap.
Could there be two of them here behaving like
chumps?

Hooker changed the subject. “I suppose you’re
on your way to have a look at Death Valley or
Boulder Dam, aren’t you?”

“No,” replied Malcolm. “I’d like to have a look
at them, of course— though I haven’t a car and I
imagine it’s a bit difficult without one— but actually
I’ve come out here— I mean here, to Barstow— to
make some enquiries about some people— anyhow,
one person— I know, who are supposed to live some-
where round here. Haven’t asked anybody yet about

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW IO9

them. I was wondering if you knew— tliough of
course you’re a stranger too, so I don’t suppose you
would. Their name’s MacMich^el.”

Hooker stopped. They were now at the near end
of the long bridge. “Did you say MacMichael?”

“Yes, MacMichael.”

“Boy— oh boy— oh boy I” chanted the young
scientist, to Malcolm’s astonishment. “Now can you
beat that?”

“What’s the matter? Do you know them?”

“Never mind for a minute,” cried Hooker ex-
citedly. “Just tell me some more.” He leaned
against the parapet, looking down at the river that
wasn’t there, and Malcolm followed his example.
“I’ll tell you this much — I’m looking for
MacMichaels too— and if you like you can come
along— and I have a car, not much to look at but it
can travel. But tell me some more.”

They were interrupted for a moment by the pass-
ing of a large car, travelling slowly away from the
town, over Ae bridge. Malcolm was glad of it. He
did not know how to begin, yet he felt that here was
a possible ally of great value.

“Well,” he began hesitantly, “I met a girl— play-
ing tennis on the French Riviera, last February—
and— well— I’ve come to find her— and that’s about
all. Sounds silly, I know, but I simply have to find
that girl.”

“Want to marry her, I suppose?” said Hooker,
with a calm detachment from all this fuss of mating.

“I would marry her— yes, like a shot,” Malcolm
admitted, "though the chances are pretty thin. But
there’s more than that in it. You see — ”

“Just a minute. Who is this girl?”

no

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“She was competing under a false name— a lot of
tennis players do, for various reasons— but I was
told afterwards that her name was really Andrea
MacMichael, and that she’s the daughter of a copper
millionaire called Henry MacMichael, who has a
place— though that seems unlikely to me— some-
where round here.”

“Finel Go on.”

“Well, there isn’t a lot more to say. But— there
was something funny about this girl— she was very
unhappy, I think— strange— repressed— secretive— and
—well, I want to see her again to find out what’s
wrong. I know there’s something wrong.”

“What’s the matter with those people, anyway?”
cried Hooker. “I didn’t know anything about a girl
—didn’t know there was one— but I ran into the
father — ”

“What’s he like?” enquired Malcolm anxiously.

“A pain in the neck, and a good big pain too.
Now what’s the matter with ’em? I don’t care what
Engelfield may be doing, it doesn’t explain the way
they go on.”

“Who’s Engelfield?”

“He’s a physicist, like me, only older and better
known, and he disappeared and I went looking
for him, and now he turns out to be Henry
MacMichael’s brother— as a matter of fact, I checked
up on that— and, like your tennis girl, he changed
his name— well, he left out the MacMichael— his real
name’s Paul Engelfield MacMichael ”

“I’m sorry,” said Malcolm, “but I’m not follow-
ing all this.”

Hooker laughed. “My fault. I’ll have to tell you
the whole story— hey, what’s that?”

THEY MEET AT BAKSTOW

111

It was the sound of a shot, very sharp in the
immense night, and it seemed to come from the road
just beyond the bridge. They could see the lights of
a car along there. Then there was a second shot
Then the sound of somebody running, over the
bridge, towards them. A figure appeared, pounding
along their way. The next moment, a heavy man
came up, gasping. It was the man who had asked
them the question about the clock in the dining-
room. He had another question this time.

“Got a gun, you fellows?” he gasped, and when
he found they hadn’t, he continued, fighting for
breath: “All right. I’ll take a chance. Can’t run
much farther— thought I might— hide under the
bridge. Any water down there?”

The headlights were turned in their direction
now, and moved slowly forward.

“Cover me up, boys. Say you saw me go down
the road. I’m clean out o’ breath.” And the man
crouched down behind them, wheezing and groan-
ing a little, as the headlights came nearer. The ttvo
young men stood close together, not feeling too com-
fortable about this hide-and-seek game that included
revolver shots. The car came up slowly, invisible
behind its big lights, but then, when it was very
close, suddenly gathered speed and swept past them
and was soon out of sight.

“That’s better,” said the stranger, getting up
again, “and thanks a lot, you two. I know I might
have got you both tangled up in a very nasty piece
of business, and I apologise for it, but I was in a
tough spot. Not a mile outside the town too. And
I’ll tell you this— if I hadn’t run for it then, within
these next two or three hours Fd have been laid out

112

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

Stiff somewhere among those hills, with a couple o’
vultures pecking my guts out of me to-morrow
morning. What an escape! And I’m no coward,
boys, believe me— but that’s just a bit too thick.
Ugh!”

“And what time,” asked Hooker calmly, “does the
clock strike?”

“Yes, of course,” said the other, “you’re the two
I asked first— in the dining-room. You must think
I’m clean off my nut— don’t blame you if you do—
but I’m not. I’m just crazy enough to go and let
myself in for something when I might be having a
nice quiet life— but that’s all. I think I’d better tell
you something about it— I’ve got to tell somebody—
can’t go on like this— and I owe you two something.
Here, are you staying at the Harvey House? So
am I. Well, let’s get back there— can’t talk here
—and I’m cold. I was nearly cold for ever that
time.”

On the way back they gave him their names and
he told them his— Jimmy Edlin, late of Shanghai and
Honolulu, more recently still of the Clay-Adams
Hotel, Los Angeles. He seemed an amusing and
adventurous sort of chap, and Malcolm was curious
to know what had been happening to him and why
he should go about asking a question about a clock
striking, yet he could not help regretting this inter-
ruption in the talk between him and Hooker about
the mysterious MacMichael family. Also, he was
anxious to hear Hooker’s story, which might closely
concern Andrea. Nevertheless, he asked both his
companions to join him in his room at the hotel,
for it turned out that he was one floor lower down
than Hooker and nearer the stairs than Edlin, whose

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW II3

room. Number Twenty-two, was round the comer
of the long corridor.

Once inside Malcolm’s room, Jimmy Edlin lit a
pipe and the other two lit cigarettes, and they
settled down cosily. Before he began talking, Edlin
had a good look at both of them, though he had
already done this once before, in the dining-room.
“Don’t mind me, boys,’’ he said. “Yes, I’m looking
you over again. You see, if I’m to talk, I’ve to trust
you. I’m up against something, believe me. And
there’s more to it than I thought there was, and
that’s saying a lot. But I know you two are all right,
and you’ve done me a good turn. Does either of you
know anything about a sort of religious society
called the Brotherhood of the Judgment?’’

Neither Malcolm nor Hooker had ever heard of
it, and said so.

“I’ll try again,’’ said Edlin, puffing away at his
pipe, “liie head of it— and I’ve not seen him so I
can’t tell you what he’s like— is living somewhere up
this way. They call him Father John— which doesn't
get you very far— but I happen to know his name is
MacMichael— hey, steady, boys!” He added this
because, to his great astonishment, both his listeners
had given a shout.

Malcolm began to wonder if the whole thing was
simply getting out of control. This was too fentastic.
It really would not do. And he told them so. “Fve
been doing a lot of travelling,” he told them. “All
very rum— to me. I’ve just had five days in Holly-
wood with a client of ours, who seemed to be living
in a sort of film nightmare, and as I stayed with him
I was in the nightmare too, with one girl coming to
dinner bringing a leopard with her, and another

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

114

girl who said my aura was bright blue with yellow
stars in it, and a chap so tight he said he could only
go round on all fours, and an awful quarrel between
my host and two other fellows about whether they
should use real elephants or have them made of
rubber; and not much sleep lately; and then I come
here, feeling a fool and not quite real, and it’s all
desert and I haven’t the least idea where I’ll find this
MacMichael girl I’m looking for; and then you, Mr.
Hooker, begin talking to me about MacMichaels
and professors with wrong names who are missing;
and now you, Mr. Edlin, after coming running up
with people firing at you, begin talking about clocks
striking and some brotherhood or whatever it is and
a Father John and he turns out to be a MacMichael
too— well, what I mean is, it’s all right, isn’t it?—
nobody’s simply being funny, are they?~just taking
advantage of the general dither I’m in— now, tell
me, honestly, you fellows.”

Jimmy Edlin, taking his pipe out of his mouth,
stared in astonishment at the end of this outburst;
but Hooker, after grinning sympathetically, said
slowly: “I know just what you feel, Mr. Darbyshire.
I feel a bit that way too. But it seems all right.”

“I thought you boys were stone-cold sober,” said
Edlin reproachfully. “I know I am. If you’ve started
on a blind. I’ll either retire or catch up, just as you
say, but I think in that case we’d better postpone
the talk.”

They assured him they were completely sober.
Neither of them had had a single drink that night.

“Then let’s get this straight,” said Edlin earnestly.
“Do I understand that you’re both looking for this
MacMichael lot? And separately? And here we are,

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW

"5

the three of us. Now this is what they call coinci-
dence, isn’t it? Well, coincidence my foot! I tell
you, boys— and I’m older than you and I’ve seen a
lot in my time— these things don’t work by chance.
We were brought together for a purpose, believe
me.

“What purpose?’’ asked Hooker, who was
obviously sceptical.

“I don’t exactly know yet. But I’ll tell you this
much. And if I didn’t believe it, I wouldn’t be here
—running down desert roads with fellows taking pot-
shots at me. There’s something going on— back
there—’’ he waved a hand, presumably to indicate
the distant mountains “—that’s all OTong.’’

Malcolm stared, bewildered, but Hooker merely
shook his head and muttered something about a pos-
sible scientific experiment.

“No, sir,” said Jimmy Edlin emphatically. “I’m
not talking about scientific experiments— in fact, I
don’t see where they come in— though you may. I’m
talking about something that these religious fanatics
are working for— I don’t say they all know about it,
but some of ’em do— and whatever it is they’re at,
it’s important enough to them so that they don’t
stop short at murder.” And he shot the startling
ugly word at them.

There was a moment’s silence, during which Edlin
looked hard from one to the other of them, while
they exchanged puzzled glances. Then a queer
hateful thought, the ghost of which had haunted
him several times when he had been awake late
thinking about Andrea, came to Malcolm, to explain
the girl’s reserve and secrecy and melancholy. He
dismissed it hastily, though he knew it would return.

Il6 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

probably later that night, to haunt him more fear-
fully than ever.

“You see,” said Jimmy Edlin gravely, “I got into
this because my brother Phil, who was a reporter in
Los Angeles, was murdered.” He went on to tell
the story of his evening with Rushy Drew and of
what happened the following night at the meeting
of the Brotherhood of the Judgment, and how he had
arranged to meet one of the brethren here at the
hotel at Barstow. “I was a fool, of course,” he con-
tinued, "to think I’d get away with it. I was too
pleased with myself, and didn’t stop to think, that
was my trouble. I hired a car and came along here—
I’d only just arrived when I asked you two fellows
the clock question. Then I went out and met a
fellow down there in the lobby— weather-beaten
ordinary sort o’ fellow in the usual Western rig-out
—and he stared at me hard, so I took him on one
side and we exchanged the password all ri^t, and
he said he had a car there, waiting to take me up
among the hills to meet Father John. There was
another of ’em in the car. No sooner had we started
off than I felt it was all wrong. I could feel it in
my bones. And something about the look of those
two fellows too. They didn’t like me, and I knew it.
When we got just beyond the bridge, I shouted to
’em I’d forgotten something and asked ’em to slow
up. They slowed up all right, probably without
thinking, and then I made a dash for it. You heard
’em taking a pot at me. It was only being so close
to the town that saved me. Of course what had
happened was that after that meeting, perhaps after
Kaydick had got in touch with Father John, they’d
made some enquiries— perhaps sent a cable or some-

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW 117

thing— and tumbled to the fact that I' was an out-
sider. So they sent for me all right, but only to take
me into that desert and leave me there— cold.”

“But you don’t really know that,” Malcolm pro-
tested. “They may have been genuinely taking you
to see Father John.”

“And then tried to kill me because I decided to
refuse the invitation,” Edlin retorted grimly. “No,
sir. You try riding behind two fellows who know
they’re going to do you in, it’s quite a different
sensation from the usual pleasure trip. Even their
backs look different. And just notice this. Even if
they only suspected I wasn’t a real member of the
Judgment troupe, they’d only to refuse to send any-
body, and I’d have been stranded here, because it’s
new country to me and how the hell would I know
where Father John is. That’s what ordinary people,
who had somebody butting into their affairs like
that, would have done. Just ignored me.”

“I don’t see why these people didn’t, if you think
they really had found you out,” said Hooker.

“Because I knew too much. I didn’t know a lot,
but it was too much.”

“But anybody could walk into their meetings,”
Malcolm pointed out. “You said that yourself.”

“Certainly. And we could all join the Brother-
hood to-morrow, I reckon, and sing hymns and listen
to prayers and be told that God loves us so much he
might bum us up at any moment. But there’s
obviously an inner circle— Brother Kaydick and his
tough boys— and to be one of them you’ve probably
to take an oath and all the rest of it, swear to obey
orders— and you’re given a sort of password. How
my brother Phil discovered it, I don’t know, prob-

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

118

ably heard two fellows in this inner circle— they’re
the Servers and they have numbers, all the old bag
of tricks— doing their clock-won’t-strike act together.
But he did know— that, and a few other things— and
they found out he knew— and went for him. And if
I hadn’t had a quick hunch to-night— and broken
the two hundred yards record— that would have been
the last of me. And from now on, of course, that
clock question is out— they’ll have changed that
now.”

“What was it again?” asked Hooker, thoughtfully.
And when the question and answer were repeated
to him, he went over them slowly. “You know, that’s
a very odd thing to say. I don’t suppose it means
anything, but still— it’s very odd.”

“It ties up with all that gloomy Revelations stuflE
they handed out at the meeting,” Edlin remarked.
“I told you. They were a gloomy lot. I took a
great dislike to ’em myself. So would you have
done. There was a very nice little widow there, sit-
ting near me, and she hated ’em on sight— like a
sensible woman.”

Forgetting for the moment that there might pos-
sibly be some connection between his mysterious
Andrea and these ferocious fanatics, Malcolm re-
marked: “But I don’t really see why you don’t report
the whole thing to the police, and have done with
it.”

Edlin chuckled. “That’s the English touch all
right. Send for the police.”

Hooker smiled at this, though he might have been
remembering his own encounter with the English
police.

“Well, why not?” Malcolm persisted.

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW II9

“It wouldn’t work. If I knew somebody in the
police here, and could get a good man put quietly
on the job, really collecting evidence against them,
then it might work. But I don’t, and what would
happen if I complained would be that this Brother-
hood of the Judgment would prove it was a nice
respectable organisation, with all its members pay-
ing taxes and living with their own wives, and
Father John would turn out to be a nice old gentle-
man with a long beard and sandals, first cousin to
a senator or a federal judge, and Mr. Jimmy Edlin
would be given a sour look and would be asked to
go away and not make a nuisance of himself, and
I’d be farther away from knowing anything worth
knowing than I was before.”

Hooker considered this carefully. “You’re right,
I guess, Mr. Edlin. You’d have to know a lot more
before you could bring the police in. But I still
don’t begin to understand why these people, how-
ever silly they may be about their beliefe, should be
ready to risk murder.”

“And I don’t. That’s just the point. But there
must be something they’re up to, and, if you ask
me, it’s not there in Los Angeles. This is the real
end, though where, what or how— I don’t know. But
then I don’t even know yet how you boys come to
be in it.”

Malcolm did not reply because he happened to
glance across at Hooker, who was looking very
thoughtful and clearly was about to speak. So
Malcolm waited; and Edlin looked across at Hooker
too. The latter stretched his long legs out at full
length, appeared to examine his socks, which were
wrinkled round the tops of his dusty shoes, and then

120

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

observed slowly: “The queer thing is— that if the
MacMichaels are really in this— they worked, or
tried to work, the very same trick on me. I’ve
thought it over a good deal, and I’ve come to the
conclusion that the only possible reason why they
should have tried that ridiculous frame-up was to
keep me out of the way and keep me busy defending
myself because they thought I was too curious.” And
having made this maddening statement, which tan-
talised both his hearers because they did not under-
stand what he meant by his “frame-up,” Hooker
sighed hard and stared again at his wrinkled socks.

“Now, Mr. Hooker,” Jimmy Edlin began.

“It’s Dr. Hooker really, if you must talk like
that — ”

“I didn’t know you were a medical man.”

“I’m not— thank God— just a doctor of science—
mainly physics— but just call me Hooker ”

“Fine! It looks as if we’re all in this thing to-
gether, though I don’t understand why yet— but then
that’s what you’re going to tell me, both of you. But
before you start, I must have a drink. I don’t know
how you boys feel, but I need a drink badly, and as
it happens I put a bottle of Scotch in my bag.”

“But isn’t your bag in that car?” said Hooker.

“No, I got in just as I was. Lucky tool Anyhow,
I’ll get that Scotch and bring a couple of glasses
from my room. It’s just round the comer. Back in
half a minute.”

But he was not back in half a minute. Malcolm
and Hooker waited in silence for several minutes,
as people so often do when one party in an impor-
tant conversation has just left them but has promised
to return very soon. Each went over in his mind

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW

121

what had recently been said, and they had plenty
to think about.

Malcolm finally broke the silence. “Taking his
time, isn't he? He seems all right— rather a likeable
chap, I think— but I don’t know what to make o£
this yarn of his.”

“No,” said Hooker slowly, “but he didn’t invent
those shots we heard. If it wasn’t for them, I’d think
he was imagining things, just because his brother
had been killed and nobody knew who’d done it.
But what happened to him to-night— and we were
witnesses— proves that he isn’t imagining things.
There is a John MacMichael too. I found that out
when I came home and began making enquiries
about the MacMichaels.”

“Tell me about them,” said Malcolm eagerly. “I
couldn’t find out much.”

“Old Thomas MacMichael, that’s their father, was
one of the old Western copper men, and he made a
pile. Henry, who was the eldest son, went into Wall
Street and made a whole lot more— still has most of
it, I guess. The next son, Paul, became a scientist,
and didn’t use his last name, perhaps because he
didn’t want people to think he was getting by
because of the old man’s money. John’s the other,
and I couldn’t find out anything about him.
Perhaps he’s off his head. They’re a queer lot. I
never liked Paul— the one I knew— though he’s a
swell physicist.”

There was a long pause. Finally, Malcolm said:
“Look here, I think you’d better tell me now, while
we’re waiting, what happened to you. I’m dying to
know— and Edlin seems to be enjoying most of that
whisky by himself.”

122 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

So Hooker described his search for the missing
Engelfield, the discovery of him in London, and
then his adventures at the Old Farm and the fair
at Ewsbury. It was a long recital.

“It didn’t make a lot of sense,” Hooker concluded,
“but all I can think is this. Paul found himself on
the track of something really big in his own field,
which is roughly the same as mine, research in
atomic structure, and especially experiments in the
transmutation of elements— I don’t know if you
understand what that’s all about,” he added, hope-
fully.

“No, I don’t,” said Malcolm hastily, “and if you
don’t mind, iust now I’d rather not try. Some other
time.”

Hooker grinned. “Whenever you say. But, as I
said, I think he saw something big ahead of him, so
cleared out and dropped his old name. He’s money
of his own and, besides, probably he has his brother
Henry backing him. And whatever he’s doing, he
wants to keep it to himself, which doesn’t surprise
me, knowing him.”

“You mean, you think his discovery may be valu-
able from a commercial point of view?” Malcolm
was not clear as to the drift of Hooker’s remarks.
"So it has to be a secret.”

“No. I’ll bet, after I said ‘transmutation, you
began thinking about alchemy, gold from lead and
all the rest of it, didn’t you? Thought so.” Hooker’s
grin was sardonic, but friendly. “No, that’s not it.
In fact, I don’t believe there’s a commercial angle
to this thing, though it’s always just p>ossible that a
man experimenting in that field might discover a
new cheap form of energy. You’ve heard the line of

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW 125

talk? The Queen Mary driven across the Atlantic
with the energy from a bit of coal about as big as
a walnut. Sounds fine. Only they don’t tell you
how much it would cost, even if you could do it,
to get the energy out of that bit of coal. No, what
he’s probably working on is something simply of
value to science, but he’s an arrogant and solitary
and anti-social devil— all wrong for a scientist, of
course— and he doesn’t want to share anything or
be criticised or risk being laughed at, so he’s keep
ing under cover until it’s all perfect and he can come
out and say, “Now look what I’ve done, you boobs!’’
That’s Paul Engelfield MacMichael. I could see by
the look in his eye, when he said a few things to me
that time in the Savoy Hotel, that he was tackling
something very big and was pleased with himself.
Now if it had been you, say, who walked in on him,
he wouldn’t have minded. TTie trouble was that it
was me, George Hooker. I don’t want to boost my-
self, but after all it is a fact that I’m one of the few
fellows who’ve been working in the same field, and
of course he knew it because we’d had arguments
before. So, not like a decent scientist, which he
ought to be, but—’’ and here Hooker suddenly lost
his deliberate calm and raised his voice excitedly
“—just like a copper king’s son and a Wall Street
shyster’s brother, he plays a God-damned dirty
trick on me. And he hasn’t heard the last of it
either.’’

“I don’t blame you,’’ said Malcolm. “But where
does this other brother, John— Father John or what-
ever he is— come in?”

“He doesn’t, so far as I know. I don’t care about
him. Probably he’s crazy. These families nearly

124 DOOMSDAY MEN

always produce at least one crazy one, and I doubt
if the other two are strictly sane.”

“That might possibly explain Andrea— the girl,
y’know.”

Hooker struggled with a yawn. “Don’t ask me.
Nodiing explains girls to me. I gave that up years
ago, when I stopped dating ’em. What time is it?
Must be late.”

Malcolm looked at his watch. “Nearly eleven.
Look here, this is absurd. Do you realise, Hooker,
how long that chap’s been gone for his whisky? Why,
it couldn’t have been much after nine when he went,
and he said he’d be back in half a minute.”

The other did not reflect the alarm in Malcolm’s
tone. “Decided to finish the Scotch himself, I guess.
I’ll bet he’s snoring now.”

But Malcolm was still uneasy. “He seemed to me
too keen on this mad business— with his talk about
murder and God knows what— just to do that. We’d
better go and see if he’s all right. Hooker. Number
Twenty-two, he said. It’s on this floor somewhere.
Come on.”

Hooker yawned again, pointing out afterwards
that he had been driving since early morning, but
agreed to go along. 'They went down the corridor,
and, turning a comer, came to Twenty-two. The
door was open, and the lights were on inside the
room. An elderly chambermaid was in there, tidy-
ing up. A half-empty bottle of Scotch stood on the
table, and by its side was a pipe, the one that Edlin
had been smoking when he left them. There was
also a decided reek of whisky. But there was no sign
of Edlin, no sign even of his baggage. After peering
in for a moment or two, Malcolm and Hooker stared

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW 125

at one another. The chambermaid went on grumpily
with her work, taking no notice of them.

“Could you please tell us where the gentleman is
who had this room?” asked Malcolm.

“No, I couldn’t.” The chambermaid sounded as
cross as she looked. “He’s gone, that’s all I know.”

“Gone where?”

“I wasn’t told that. All I was told was to come up
and do the room out. You’d better ask at the desk.”

“Mr. Ediin was in this room, wasn’t he?”

“Don’t know the name,” she snapped, as if she
strongly disapproved of everything connected with
this business. “You’ll have to ask at the desk. Who-
ever he was, he seems to have been powerful fond
of liquor. Place stinks of liquor.”

They withdrew slowly, feeling somewhat defeated
as well as mystified. On their way downstairs.
Hooker gave it as his opinion that Ediin, a little
shaky after his escape, must have taken a few
enormous swigs of whisky, and then, suddenly
drunk, must have forgotten all about returning to
their room and have gone reeling out of the hotel.
Malcolm felt that there was more in it than that,
though he was not prepared even to guess at what
had happened.

The reception clerk was more communicative
than the chambermaid, though he spoke with a
certain reserve. Yes, Mr. Ediin of Twenty-two had
left about an hour ago.

“But did he say why he was going?” asked
Malcolm.

No, he hadn’t said anything.

Malcolm looked questioningly at Hooker, who
was frowning now. 'Then they both looked again at

186 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

the young clerk, who showed some faint signs of
embarrassment.

“We can’t make this out,” Hooker told him.
“Mr. Edlin was talking to us, about two hours ago,
went to his room, saying he’d be back in a minute,
and we haven’t seen him since.”

The clerk leaned forward a little and became con-
fidential. “He oughtn’t to have been out, you see.
And the doctor and an attendant came for him.
Good job they did too, because he’d got himself
pretty bad even in that short time. Practically passed
out. But they got him away all right.”

It was left to Hooker to ask the questions.
Malcolm felt that everything had now escaped any
kind of control. His own lunacy had brought him
here, and he had wandered into an ever-enlarging
and more spectacular lunacy.

“One of these sanatoriums for fellows who can’t
quit the liquor,” the clerk explained. “The doctor
didn’t say much, but I knew that was it. 'They came
for him from Riverside or somewhere down there.
Pretty bad case, I reckon. He’d only just checked
in, but when they carried him out, I could smell
the whisky from here. He’d had plenty, believe me.
And I don’t mind telling you gentlemen I wasn’t
sorry to see him go.”

After a struggle, Malcolm now found his voice.
“Did you know this doctor?”

“No, sir. Stranger to me. From Riverside— or
Pasadena, I forget which. Johnson, the name was.
A tall dark man with a terrible squint.”

Malcolm seemed to have heard just recently of
a tall dark man with a terrible squint, but could
not remember in what connection it was. At the

THEY MEET AT BARSTOW 127

moment he felt all at sea. No sense in any of this.

“Thanks,” said Hooker, rather dryly.

“You betl” replied the clerk, beaming, and turned
away.

Without a word, Malcolm and Hooker moved
across the little lobby and went outside, where a
locomotive, which looked to Malcolm of an incred-
ible size, was ringing its warning bell. Another
train, away in the distance, was giving that long
mournful hoot that seems to make the night spaces
of America even vaster than they actually are. Away
across the gleaming railroad tracks the coloured
lights of Barstow’s main street shone bravely, very
small in the immensity of the night. Malcolm felt
a long way from home; not only bewildered but lost.

“Well,” he asked, at length, “what do you make
of it?”

“You’ve got to take one line or the other,” replied
Hooker, slowly. “Either he’s one of these crazy
drunks, and he never had a brother who was mur-
dered and there isn’t a Brotherhood of the Judg-
ment and a Father John and all the rest of it— or ”

“He was telling the truth, and those fellows came
back and somehow took him out of the hotel, eh?”

“That’s it. Either one or the other. Take your
choice.”

Malcolm thought a moment. “He seemed all
right to me.”

“They often do, those drunks, when they’ve just
had enough and not too much,” said Hooker, almost
tis if he enjoyed making it all more difficult. “But
I’ll tell you what I’m going to do?”

“What?” Malcolm had nothing to suggest himself.

“I’m going,” said Hooker firmly, “to bed.”

»

CHAPTER FIVE

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN

ACK in half a minute,” said Jimmy Edlin,

1-^ over his shoulder, as he opened the door.

M 3 When he came out into the corridor, he had
a feeling that somebody had just gone round the
comer, towards the stairs, but he did not attach
any importance to this fact. After all, they hadn’t
the whole hotel to themselves. He went along to his
room in a pleasantly excited state of mind. The
last thing he had expected was to find here a couple
of fine young fellows who seemed to be as curious
about this MacMichael business as he was, and who
appeared to have seen it so far from an entirely dif-
ferent point of view. In a minute or two he would
know what that point of view was, and might leam
something valuable, over a drink or two of that
excellent Scotch he had had the sense to put in his
bag. This was going to be great. Nice fellows, and
the three of them all after the same queer crowd.
Jimmy liked company, and so far he had not been
a big success working by himself on this job, which
he was convinced now was a very rum job indeed.
The little widow, Mrs. Atwood— and there was an
attractive little piece of womanhood for a lonely
man— had been very much interested, very sympa-
thetic, almost excited it seemed when he told her
over the telephone where he was going— but you
couldn’t land a woman into this nasty mess, as he

128

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN IgQ

had been careful to tell her. (She hadn’t liked that
either, he remembered, and had even been a bit
short and sharp with him, saying Good-bye abruptly
and cutting him off. A pityl Though he was no
hand at saying things that might please a woman
over the telephone; something too inhuman about
that lump of vulcanite.) But now it looked as if he
had two very useful allies in these fine alert young
chaps. Yes, he’d been lucky.

In this pleasantly excited state of mind, then,
Jimmy hurried along to his room, and, not bother-
ing to close the door behind him, he rummaged in
his bag, which he had not unpacked yet, for the
Scotch. He took the lead foil wrapping off the top
of the bottle, to make sure that he would not need a
corkscrew. Then he looked up, remembering the
two glasses he had promised to take along, to dis-
cover that he was facing the barrel of a large revol-
ver. The man who held it, now standing with his
back to the door, was the very man, a youngish
fellow with queer light eyes and almost bleached
hair, who had answered the Brotherhood password
and taken him out to the car.

“Get back and raise your hands, mister,” came
the command.

Jimmy did as he was told, breaking out into a
sweat. TTiis was going to be tough.

“I can tell you exactly what our orders are,
mister,” continued the unpleasant bleached young
man. “We’re to take you along. But if you won’t
come along, if you give any trouble, then we’re to
make good an’ sure you don’t do any more inter-
ferin’.”

Jimmy knew only too well that this was the truth.

Igo THE DOOMSDAY MEN

These people were capable of killing him there and
then, and to hell with the consequences. Whatever
it was they were planning, it obviously made them
both relentless and reckless.

“All right,” he muttered, with a mouth that was
drier than ever. “I haven’t got a gun. Better put
that one down.”

“No, sir. We let you oflE too easy last time,” said
the other, now coming forward. He moved until he
was near the telephone, but kept Jimmy steadily
covered.

“I don’t know what you think you can do,” said
Junmy uneasily. “But this happens to be an hotel,
don’t forget.”

“Sure! I hadn’t forgotten.” And the young man,
without taking his eyes or his large revolver off
Jimmy, reached down with his left hand and took
up the receiver. Jimmy stared in amazement. What
did the fellow think he could do? But the fellow
seemed to know. “I want to speak to Doctor John-
son,” he remarked, coolly, down the telephone.
“That’s right. Oh— doc— I’ve got him. Yes— twenty-
two. Sure I can hold him. Okay.”

The young man put down the telephone, still
watching Jimmy, then slowly backed towards the
door.

“You might give me some idea what you’re
doing,” said Jimmy. “Where does the doctor come
in? Are you sick— or am I?”

“I reckon you are, mister,” was the reply, de-
livered without the ghost of a smile.

Jimmy felt more puzzled than alarmed. So long
as he kept quiet and gave them no trouble, as the
young man admitted, they had no intention of

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN 151

using that gun on him, which, anyhow, would be a
very desperate move on their part, here in the hotel.
On the other hand, how could they “take him
along”? Was there some back way out that they
knew about? And what was this doctor business?
While Jimmy asked himself these questions, the
young man kept silent, but very watchful, obviously
not intending that Jimmy should escape a second
time that night.

A knock and a voice outside. The young man
had the door open and shut again before Jimmy
could even think of making a move. But now
Dr. Johnson, complete with a black bag, was in the
room. And there could be no possible doubt as to
who it was. Brother Kaydick had now taken charge.

Brother Kaydick muttered something Jimmy
could not catch to his assistant, then stood looking
hard at Jimmy and rubbing his long chin. At least,
Jimmy felt that Brother Kaydick was looking hard
in his direction, but, so powerful was that squint of
Brother Kaydick’s that he might have also been
looking at the bottle of whisky on the table. This
silence seemed to Jimmy unmannerly.

“Good evening. Brother Kaydick,” he remarked.
“When did you turn into Dr. Johnson? And what
have you got in that bag?”

“Quiet!” commanded Brother Kaydick harshly.
He muttered again to the bleached young man, then,
to Jimmy’s surprise, stalked into the bathroom,
taking the bag with him.

“Keep your hands up,” said the owner of the
revolver, sharply.

“You don’t mind me being in this room, do you?”
Jimmy enquired. He was tired of this, and so were

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

132

his arms, which now ached to be anywhere but up
in the air. “I couldn’t rent you fellows another room
here, could I? I’d like the use of this myself. I don’t
want to be unreasonable — ”

But Brother Kaydick had reappeared. “Turn
round.’’

“Why should I?” But he did. He also heard
Brother Kaydick and his assistant coming closer, and
smelt something sickly, something that might easily
have a place in Dr. Johnson’s black bag. Then he
found his arms seized and pulled down behind him;
a sickly-smelling cloth enveloped his nose and
mouth; he was sufEocating, and he struggled hard to
free himself; they were choking him, the devils; but
now, though he was still struggling, he was half-
floating about too, and there seemed to be rockets
whizzing and exploding all over the room. And,
oddly enough, the last thing he remembered was the
appearance from nowhere of a sudden fountziin of
Scotch whisky. . . .

He was back in China, in the native quarter of
Shanghai perhaps, and they were celebrating some
festival, and never had he heard so much beating of
gongs, so many fire-crackers; and though he kept
telling them to stop, they only grinned at him, and
brought out bigger gongs and more strings of fire-
crackers; and then there was a procession, with
everybody making the most devilish racket, and at
the end of the procession was an enormous gilded
car, with dragons carved all over it, and seated high
in this car, dressed like a mandarin in full regalia,
was Brother Kaydick; and though Jimmy tried to
hide himself in the crowd, it was no use, because
always the Chinese in front of him mysteriously

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN 135

melted away, leaving him open to the view of the
figure in the car; and though he ran and ran, that
was no use either, because the car was always just
coming round the comer; and at last Brother Kay-
dick saw him and cried in a terrible voice, “There’s
the man,” pointing a long talon of a finger, and a
big Chink soldier, with a club, rushed at him and
hit him— bang!— on the head. . . .

He could still feel the bang on the head. His
head seemed to be enormous and every bit of it
ached like the devil. He was cold too, stiff and cold.
Slowly he opened his eyes, but made no sense out of
what they saw, so closed them again. This happened
several times. Then he really began to take notice.
It was hard work at first, with such a head on him,
but he persevered. He was lying among some pack-
ing cases in the corner of a small dim room that had
unpainted deal plank walls. He was cold because he
had had no covering over him, and was not even
wearing his coat. Bright sunlight was coming in,
through a few cracks in the walls and between the
edge of a small window and the rough curtaining
tacked over it. He thought about all diis for a long
time. Cold and stiff though he was, somehow he
did not want to move yet. There were sounds out-
side, but he did not feel like bothering about them.
The thing to do was to keep quiet, just to think a
little, not too much, and try to forget that his head
was far too big and apparently split open in several
places. He felt as if he was just recovering from a
three days’ crazy binge-and-blind, yet he knew that
he had been up to nothing like tli^t. This would
have to be carefully worked out before he began to
move. What exactly had he been doing? He began

134 the doomsday men

to work it out, very cautiously. He wasn’t still in
China; that had been a dream. Honolulu? No, he
left Honolulu for Los Angeles.

His half-opened eyes were pained to behold an
ever-widening bar of brilliant light, so they closed
again. Might that be a door opening? He lay quite
still. Then a voice remarked: “No, he’s still out.’’
It was a voice he had heard before and had disliked.
There came the sound of the door closing, then
being locked.

Within five minutes, Jimmy was thoroughly
awake, though feeling groggy. He remembered all
the events of the previous night, up to his having a
struggle with Kaydick and the other fellow in the
hotel room. They had doped him somehow— he
could still smell chloroform or whatever it was they
had on the cloth— and there was also a puzzling smell
of whisky, though he could not remember having
had any the night before. Very carefully and quietly,
he moved and then rubbed his stiff and cold arms
and legs. Evidently they had dumped him in here,
last night, after taking away his coat. But where was
he? And how had they smuggled him out of the
hotel at Barstow? And what in the name of thunder
was he going to do now? Beneath his surface be-
wilderment, however, there was a growing anger.
Doping him, then dumping him in here like a
parcel 1

Now that he could feel his arms and legs again,
he began to take careful stock of the place he was
in, which seemed to be the back store room of a not
very large, rough wooden structure. There were a
good many packing cases of all sizes about, along
with various wooden boxes and tins. 'The floor.

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN I35

which like the walls was made of rough deal plank-
ing, was littered with packing straw, paper, bits of
rope and twine. The window was high up and
very small. Very cautiously, for it would be easy to
make a noise that would give him away, he rose tmd
tip-toed to the nearest point of light, where a knot
in the wood had fallen out. He put an eye to this
hole, but all he could see through it was a yellow
bit of desert, brilliant in the sunlight. There were,
however, some narrow lighted streaks in the wall
where the door was, and through which he could
just hear voices, so now, moving more cautiously
than ever, he went on tip-toe across, and tried two
of these. They were better for hearing than seeing,
but he was able to catch a glimpse of Kaydick and
the bleached young man, and he came to the conclu-
sion that the third fellow there was the other man,
who had driven the car from which he had escaped
near Barstow the night before. He saw too, on the
table, a package about three foot long and one foot
high, very securely tied and sealed, and looking as
if it had come a long way, for there were various
labels and stamps on it. This was all he could see.
What he heard was more important.

It was not easy to put together their short and
disjointed remarks, obviously those of men who
understood one another and had plenty of time on
their hands. You had to do, at some speed, a jigsaw
puzzle with plenty of pieces missing. But Jimmy
was no fool, and he knew he had to think quickly.
What he gathered was that they were waiting for the
arrival of a truck that had been delayed, and that
this truck would take Kaydick and the bleached
young man, whose name was Joseph, up to a place

136 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

called Lost Lake, where, Jimmy shrewdly surmised.
Father John was staying. They were to take with
them the package on the table, which was clearly
something very important, eagerly awaited at Lost
Lake. What they intended to do with him, Jimmy
did not discover, and he had an idea that they did
not know yet themselves. Jimmy realised now, of
course, that they were worried about him simply
because they could not understand how he had so
nearly succeeded in deceiving them, and wondered
where an outsider had learned at least one or two
of their secrets.

Then he heard Kaydick say, “We had better go
down and telephone again,” and there was a move-
ment in the room. “You have your revolver, Joseph,”
Kaydick continued, in his own grim fashion. “Keep
an eye on that man in there. He may be waking
soon. And I leave this package in your charge too,
Joseph. We shan’t be long.” And then he heard
the two of them going out.

Jimmy thought quickly. This was his only chance.
Joseph still imagined he was asleep and might pos-
sibly be off his guard. Even merely to look in, he
would have to open the door, and once the door
was open, anything might happen. Jimmy stared
thoughtfully at that door, which was about three
feet from the comer. He could stand behind it, and
teke a chance at surprising Joseph if he came well
into the room. But that was unlikely. His best plan
was to stand at the side on which the door opened,
for there would be just a moment when Joseph
would have to stare into the dim interior to see what
was happening there. So Jimmy pushed his back
against the wall, wedging himself between the door

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN

and the comer, and waited, wanting to breathe hard
and not daring to, hearing almost with despair what
seemed the loud thumping of his heart. And there
he seemed to wait a long, long time, so that it seemed
impossible that Kaydick and the other man would
not return, to wreck his whole plan.

Just when it appeared hopeless, and he felt he
could not stand there, all aching, another moment,
he heard the key turn in the lock, and braced him-
self for instant action, bringing the shoulder farther
away from the door, his right shoulder, round a
little, and clenching his fist. Slowly, with agonising
slowness it seemed, the door opened, and then
Joseph’s face looked in through the opening. Jimmy
allowed it the fraction of a second to come in a little
farther, and then, throwing his whole two hundred
pounds of righteous indignation behind the upward
swing of his arm, he gave it the most tremendous
uppercut seen in this world since Jack Johnson left
the ring. Joseph vanished, but Jimmy was in the
other room in time to see him give a final quiver as
he reached the floor. Jimmy hastily glanced round
for his coat, but could not see it. No time to lose.
They evidently considered that package on the
table to be very important, so he would take that,
just to make things harder for them. There was a
key inside the outer door, so he took that too and
locked the hut from outside, just to make things
harder still. And now what? Where had Kaydick
and the other man gone to? And where on earth
was this place? He gave a hasty glance all round
him.

Blinking a little in the bright sunlight, he saw
that he was in the middle of the desert, but only

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

138

about five hundred yards away from a junction of
roads, where there were several buildings, probably
a filling-station and a caK and some auto-camp
huts. He had no idea where it was, but guessed it
to be somewhere between Barstow and the
mountains. The road below reminded him of the
one that went eastwards out of Barstow. The
wooden building, little more than a hut, near which
he was still standing, trying to get his bearings, was
about fifty yards back from the side road, running
behind the cluster of buildings at the junction.
There was a rough track, just passable for cars, lead-
ing from this hut to the side-road; but the car that
must have brought him here, last night, was no-
where to be seen. Perhaps Kaydick and the other
man had gone along to the junction in it, though he
had not heard it go. Or they may have left it down
there, for some reason or other. Meanwhile, stand-
ing here, he was asking for trouble.

The only possible thing to do was to make for
the junction, once he knew that Kaydick and the
other men had left it, and trust to luck that he could
get a lift from there. And this dodging of Kaydick
was going to be tricky. You couldn’t just cut and
run anywhere across this desert stuff. Once away
from the roads, you were lost and done for. The
only course open to him at the moment was to get
somewhere between the hut and the junction, some-
where from which he could see both of them, so
that he would know when it would be possible to
dodge along to the junction. He would have to
think later what he could do when he arrived there.
So instead of descending to the road, along which
Kaydick was sure to come, he made roughly in the

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN 1 59

direction of the junction, across broken desert
ground with a few dusty shrubs in it, keeping more
or less parallel to the road. When he had gone about
two or three hundred yards, still clinging to the
package, which was fairly bulky but not heavy, he
came to a clump of rock on a hillock, behind which
he could see but not be seen, and there he stayed,
breathless, excited, and now very warm. The sun
was high, and it glared down on the shimmering
empty scene. Jimmy had no watch, for he had kept
it in his coat, and now the coat was gone, with £ll
his money except what might be left in his trousers
pockets. What had he left? He looked at it. A
nickel and four cents. So there he was, with coat,
pocket-book, cheque-book, watch, all gone, facing
the desert and a good old stretch of road to any-
where with his shirt and pants and nine cents. And
now he had time to feel hungry and thirsty and very
grubby. And he had no hat, and the sun seemed
to be stronger every moment. And if he did dodge
Kaydick, and slip down into the junction, what
then? Well, they couldn’t take him again down
there, with other people all around? But couldn’t
they? They had managed, with some Dr. Johnson
hocus-pocus, to get him out of that hotel at Barstow
all right, hadn’t they? Now that he no longer felt
the exhilaration of uppercutting Joseph and of his
escape, he saw that his prospects were not at all
bright. All that was bright, blast it, was the sun,
dazzling and burning and boring into him.

Two figures coming along the road? Yes, Kaydick
and the other fellow. They had been along to the
junction then. And they were not looking his way
—why should they? He dropped behind the hillock.

140 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

and stooping as he went, he began working his way
towards the junction. The package was a nuisance,
but he decided to keep it as long as he could,
because he was curious now to know what it con-
tained. Awkward, though, if Kaydick caught him at
the junction, and accused him of stealing it. True,
they had kidnapped him, but Jimmy, still making
his way painfully behind rocks and over rocks and
trying to dodge a lot of hellish prickly stufiE, had
an unpleasant idea that they would find it easier to
accuse him of stealing— for there was the package
and it certainly wasn’t addressed to him— than he
would find it to maintain that he had just been kid-
napped. Trouble about this whole business was, he
reflected, between curses at the cactus and sharp
stones, that the truth about it, whatever that might
be, was so fantastic that any nice little lie that Kay-
dick and Company brought out would obviously be
believed. And so far, these hymn-singing brethren
had beaten him— to say nothing of poor dead Phil-
all along the line. Well, he could but try. And then,
he remembered with a mixture of pleasure and self-
reproach, there were the two young fellows. Darby-
shire the Englishman, and the scientific chap,
Booker or Tooker or Hooker, trying to puzzle it out,
back there in Barstow, and also probably trying to
puzzle out what had become of their new friend,
Mr. James Edlin.

He had lost sight of Kaydick now, and there was
no difficulty at all in cutting behind the buildings
for the main road, then turning down to the filling-
station and caf6 there. He learned at once where he
was, at Baker, with Barstow sixty miles away down
that empty main road. Well, it might have been

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN 141

worse. But now what? Business at Baker this morn-
ing was not brisk. Not a car in sight. At any
moment one might come along, going to Barstow,
and he could tell some yam to get a lift, but how
long could he afford to wait? The grim and re-
sourceful Kaydick and his boys might be back at any
moment too. What would happen, Jimmy asked
himself hastily, if he set off as hard as he could along
that Barstow road? He might get a lift sooner or
later. On the other hand, he might wear himself
out, hatless, coatless, hot and hungry, and at the
end of ten miles or so, with nobody and nothing else
in sight, find Brother Kaydick and friends bearing
down on him in their car. And a hell of a lot of
fight there would be in him then!

He knew there were many more important things
to worry about, as he stood there, a tousled absurd
figure in a crumpled pink shirt clutching a large
package, but for the life of him he could not help
^smissing them to wonder if he could buy a good
drink of coffee for nine cents. It would be just his
luck if coffee were ten cents. The place, of course,
was decorated with all manner of tantalising notices,
imploring him to step inside and be cool, to try a
nice long drink, to devour ham and eggs and other
delicacies, to consider himself Welcome at Baker.
Enough to drive a man mad! He turned away, to
see that he was being regarded curiously by a man
even plumper than he was but looking far more
comfortable.

“I’ll toss you for a nickel,” said Jimmy desper-
ately.

“Sure!” the stranger chuckled, and then as Jimmy
tossed his coin, sending a prayer after it, the plump

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

142

jolly damnable fellow called “Heads,” And so it
was.

“If Fd been as lucky with everything else as I’ve
been at tossing,” said the stranger, pocketing
Jimmy’s miserable last nickel and then jingling a
pocketful of them carelessly, “I’d sure be going
places right now.”

So that was that. Jimmy walked away, but found
that even when he was well clear of the buildings,
he could not see the hut he had left. He discovered
from the signpost that the side-road near the hut
went on to Shoshone and Death Valley Junction;
and now he spent the next minute or two anxiously
and alternatively looking along one road or the
other, hoping that a car would arrive on the road
from Las Vegas to Barstow to give him a lift, and
trusting that he would not see Kaydick and the
others coming down the side-road. Meanwhile, the
morning was wearing late, the sun was rising higher
still, and the very sight of the shimmering desert
made him feel more and more uncomfortable. What
a place! And what a fine figure he cut in it too, with
his sweaty and dusty pink shirt, his aching feet, his
aching head, his aching heart, emd his four cents!
So there he stood, looking first one way and then
the other; and nothing, one of the blankest hot
nothings he ever remembered, nothing happened.
In fact, it didn’t look as if anything would ever
happen again in Baker.

That, of course, was the signal for life to get busy.
On the road from Las Vegas there appeared one,
two, three, four buses. On the other road there
appeared two hurrying figures, and Jimmy knew at
once they were Kaydick and the other fellow.

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN 143

Desperate men too, for not only had their comrade
been knocked out but their precious package had
been stolen. Promptly dodging out of sight, Jimmy
asked himself hurriedly what was to be done about
this package. If possible at all, he meant to keep
it, but if Kaydick arrived before those buses or
(horrible thought) if the buses didn’t stop, this
package was better out of the way. Not far from
where he stood there was a depression by the side
of the road, and he put the package down there, as
if it were waiting to be taken away by bus. Then
he hurried to the far side of the filling-station,
watched round the comer there, saw Kaydick and
the other fellow come hurrying up on the other side,
then dodged round the back among the auto-camp
huts. This was not an ideal place for hide-and-seek,
but it would have to do. Kaydick would probably
waste a minute or two, asking if anybody had seen
him, and now the buses would be here at any
moment, that is, if they were going to stop at Baker.
If they didn’t stop, his chances were not good. He
might be able to dive into an empty auto-camp hut,
and then again he might not. He worked farther
round the back, taking all the cover he could, until
finally he was near the side-road again, where Kay-
dick and the other man had just passed. Here were
the buses, and— glory, gloryl— they were stopping.
Then a miracle happened.

In one instant, it seemed. Baker was transformed.
From an empty place, asleep in an empty desert, it
immediately changed into the comer of a roaring
carnival town, for from those buses, s^varming out
like ants, yelling for Budweiser and ice-cream sodas,
banging one another on the back, each man making

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

J44

the noise and seeming to take the space of ten, there
descended a host of lively fellows all wearing red,
tasselled, conical hats, that Turkish hat known as
the fez. It looked as if Baker had been suddenly
fl ung into a revolution in Stamboul. The red hats
stormed the place. A crimson tide swept into the
caf^. “Attaboy!” they thundered, charging towards
the beer. Not all went in. There was a strong side-
current in the direction of the men’s wash-room.
And there were red hats bobbing up and down all
over the junction. Blessing this miraculous inva-
sion, Jimmy saw that his one chance now was to clap
a fez on his head, and to do it at once. Risking dis-
covery, though the risk at the moment was not great
for even if Kaydick or the other man caught sight
of him, they could hardly do anything in the press
of this roaring mob, Jimmy hurried along and
joined the fourth wave that was trying to storm the
cafe, and jammed himself in amongst them, happily
mingling his sweat with theirs. Once inside, he
enjoyed the felicity of catching sight of Kaydick, a
tall fellow and unmistakable with his squint, com-
pletely hemmed in near the counter, where he must
have been making enquiries. For an instant, he
imagined that Kaydick must have seen him too,
among the faces pressing in at the back, but he did
not look long enough to make sure. What he had
to do now was to obtain a fez. He pushed his way
through at the side, until he found himself near a
table crowded with thirsty invaders who had already
given their order and, now relaxed, ready for beer,
kidding one another, mopping their brows, had
piled their red hats on the table. Just as he was
wondering if he could safely snatch a hat from the

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN I45

nearest pile, he saw one on the floor, dived like a
swallow for it, pushed towards the entrance again,
and came out triumphantly wearing, towards one ear,
for it was too small for him, a glorious, idiotic, crim-
son fez. And there, among the group just outside the
door, he almost ran into the other man, who at the
first sight of Jimmy opened his eyes and his mouth.
But, Jimmy, making the most of his fez, bustled past
him at once, feeling sure that the man would not
have time to make up his mind. Jimmy did not
intend to give him time. He threaded his way
hastily through the remainder of his fellow fez-
wearers, picked up the package, climbed into the
nearest bus, the second of the four, and hurried to
the far comer of the back seat, where he made him-
self as small as possible and pretended, with the fez
as far over his face as the miserable little thing
would go, to be asleep. “And now, for the lo\e of
Pete, boys,” he cried to himself, “let’s go.”

How long he was there before they did go, he
could not have told, but it seemed horribly long to
him in that comer. He did not dare look about
him, but every instant he expected to hear an un-
pleasant voice asking him what he thought he tv as
doing there. He hoped he looked like a man trying
to sleep off the effect of wearing a Turkish hat
during a long wild night in Las Vegas, where he
knew these fellows had been the night before; but
he never felt less sleepy in his life. His right
shoulder was taut, expecting to feel a heavy hand
laid on it. “Come on, boys,” he kept on imploring
them silently, “come on. Don’t stay in this hole all
day.” Amd never did he hear a cry so welcome as
that of “AJl Ab-ooo-ard!” or feel so delighted to find

146 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

a vehicle suddenly invaded with hot heavy bodies
and shouts and perspiration and dusty shoes and the
smell of beer. Yes, yes, they were off— and good-bye.
Baker! He sat up, and looked out. Was that Kay-
dick over there, looking angrily about him? It was.
Good-bye, good-bye. Brother KaydickI

They were all hot, in that bus, but the hottest was
Jimmy, who now began to fan himself with his fez.
His neighbour, a small round man, who looked like
a warm pink egg, if an egg could be made to wear
rimless eye-glasses and a Turkish hat, and who wore
a little label announcing that he was J. F. Hofel-
stanger, Los Angeles, now glanced curiously at him
several times. Jimmy knew only too well that J. F.
Hofelstanger had something to glance at. The boys
had seen Boulder Dam and had had a fine night out
at Las Vegas, that “wide open” Nevada town of
gambling saloons, and so they were not looking their
sprucest this morning, but Jimmy knew they were
fashion plates compared to him, with his ruined
pink shirt, his tousled hair, his filthy unshaven face.
Thank God he was on his way, at fifty-five miles
an hour, back to that hotel at Barstow.

“Well, brother,” said Mr. Hofelstanger, “I’d say,
by the look of you this morning, you’d had one big
night in Las Vegas.”

With an effort, Jimmy winked. “You’re right at
that, brother. That was one night I won’t forget in
a hurry.”

“You didn’t lose your coat, did you?”

“Sure! Lost everything.” Jimmy spoke expan-
sively— one of the boys.

“Say!” cried little Mr. Hofelstanger, not unim-
pressed, “you hit it pretty hard, didn’t you?”

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN 147

“I hit that town high, wide, and handsome,” cried
Jimmy. “And d’you know what I have left, brother?
Four cents— just four cents.”

Mr. Hofelstanger pursed up his chubby Httle lips
and whistled. Then he looked down at Jimmy’s
knees, between which he was clutching the large up-
ended package. Now he pointed to it. “You man-
aged to get something out of it.”

“Don’t know how I held on to it,” J immy con-
fessed, solemnly. “But it’s a present— you know—
for Mrs. Edlin. Yes, sir, it’s a nice present. Must
take her back something, y’know. Brother Hofel-
stanger. Have to do it. Never get away if I didn’t.
Fact is, Mrs. Edlin isn’t too pleased when I come
away like this with the boys.”

“Mrs. Hofelstanger’s the same way. I’ve bought
her a brooch. Got it in the Indian Store. Set me
back six dollars, but it’s worth it, I guess.”

“Certainly it’s worth it.” Jimmy felt confident in
the part now. “Gives the little woman a bit of
pleasure, doesn’t it? And makes it easier to get away
next time. That’s what I always say. How did you
make out last night. Brother Hofelstanger? Biim
it up all right, eh?”

“I hit the spots,” replied Hofelstanger, with a
modest cough that was not quite in keeping with his
words. “Matter of fact, believe me or believe me
not. Brother Edlin, but I pulled a jack-pot out of
one of those fruit machines— yes, sir, a jack-pot.
Only one of the nickel machines— though that’s
enough for any sensible man, I guess— but I pulled
two dollars twenty-five out of it— and— say— you
ought to have seen ’em shooting out. First jack-pot
1 ever made. Well, a fellow’s got to cut loose now

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

148

and again, I say. If he doesn’t he gets into a groove,
and that’s bad for his business.” He was very solemn
now.

Jimmy could be solemn too. “You’re right there,
brother. A man’s got to keep himself all alive and
kicking, or where would his business be? And
what’s your line. Brother Hofelstanger?” This
ought to keep the little man busy and prevent him
from asking awkward questions.

It did. Mr. Hofelstanger was in the restaurant
and caterers’ supplies business, and some fifty miles
of desert road flowed under them while he
described, with a deep solemnity, the strange
vicissitudes of this trade, the way it shot up and
then as suddenly sagged and sank, the astonishing
demands it made, the unique combination of
strength and subtlety necessary for the man who
would cope with it. By the time they were approach-
ing Barstow, where a halt was to be made for lunch,
Jimmy felt he could have filled any vacancy in the
restaurant and caterers’ supplies trade. He also felt
a horrible vacancy in himself that asked for every-
thing a caterer could do. He had had an early
dinner last night, and since then not one crumb or
drop of anything. Mr. Hofelstanger now confessed
he was hungry. But Jimmy could almost have eaten
Mr. Hofelstanger.

They crossed the bridge where Jimmy had done
his hundred yards flat, the night before, and then
drew up majestically— just as if the whole expedition
was under Jimmy’s command— at the side of the
Harvey House. Nothing could have been more con-
venient. Still hu^ng his package, Jimmy filed out
with the others, and silently blessed the Shiiners or

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN I49

whatever they were for having brought him so neatly
out of a very nasty situation. Here he was, back at
the hotel, where those two nice youngsters must be
wondering what had become of him, very little the
worse— that is, once he had had some food and drink
and a bath and shave and a change of clothes, and
some more money had found its way into his pocket
—and probably with some very important evidence
indeed inside this package. TTie red hats, a little
more subdued now than they had been at Baker,
marched into the hotel, where the dining-room had
been set aside for them, and Jimmy brought up the
rear. He waited, very hungrily because there was a
rich promise of steak and French fried potatoes in
the air, until some of them had stopped milling
round the desk in the lobby, and then when the
desk was clear he approached the clerk, beaming
upon him. For an instant, the clerk automatically
smiled back, but then his face suddenly froze and
into the stare he gave Jimmy there leapt a look of
consternation.

Jimmy realised that he must seem a fairly grim
spectacle, enriched perhaps but not really improved
by the addition of a Turkish fez that did not even
fit him. He snatched it from his head, and now tried
to look as if it had never been there, as if the clerk
was now making the mistake of seeing too many red
hats. What Jimmy did not realise was that as he
stood there, with one arm embracing a large
package, soaked in perspiration, covered with dust
and bits of straw, he made the perfect image of
a man who had succeeded for the second time
within the last eighteen hours in escaping from an
inebriates’ home. That is how the clerk, remember-

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

150

ing last night and Dr. Johnson, saw him, and the
clerk cannot be blamed.

“Had a bit of an accident,” said Jimmy casually.
“You’ll have to give me another key for my room,
unless the door’s open. Twenty-two, I think it
was.”

The clerk shook his head, then looked round
rather anxiously. He seemed to be muttering some-
ing about that room not being available.

“Well, give me another then,” said Jimmy, rather
impatient now. After all, he couldn’t stand there,
looking as if he’d just been dragged out of the ash-
can, with the clerk merely goggling at him.

“We’re full.” Something desperate about that
statement.

“Now, look here,” said Jimmy sternly. “I booked
a room here last night— and I’m entitled to it — ”

“Yes, but you checked out,” the clerk said, with
the same desperate air.

“I didn’t.”

“Well, the doctor did for you— and he was respon-
sible for you ”

“He wasn’t.” But Jimmy did not explain why.
Ticklish, this doctor busines. Could he say outright
he’d been kidnapped? No, too many explanations,
and nearly all hard to believe.

“I’m sorry,” said the clerk, who did not look it,
“but you can’t stay here— and I’ll have to ask you
to go. Y’know, you’re only making it worse for
yourself,” he added, in a not unkindly tone, which
Jimmy found more maddening th a n the other,
“breaking out like this. 'They’re doing it all for the
best. Why don’t you give them a chance?” He was
a decent, kind-hearted lad, wanting everybody to

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN 151

lead decent sober lives and be fit to enjoy the
hospitality of the Fred Harvey Company. “It’ll get
you in the end, if you don’t. Go back before you
find yourself in trouble. They’re doing their best
for you. And we couldn’t possibly allow you to stop
here again. Go back to the home, to Dr. Johnson.
What d’you say?’’

“What do I say?’’ roared Jimmy, in a fury. “I say,
don’t talk like a God-dam’ fool. Where are those
two young men I met last night— y’know, Mr. Darby-
shire and Mr. Hooker? Tell them I’m here.’’

“I can’t,” and the clerk was very stiff now. After
all, he had tried to be kind.

“Why not? What’s the matter with you?”

“I can’t, because they’ve gone— they checked out
this morning— and now you’d better go.” He turned
away, pretending to look at his book, then gave
Jimmy a hard look, saw that he was still standing
there, so went to the telephone. And Jimmy did not
like the look of him at all as he took up the tele-
phone; he had the look of a man about to make
further trouble, as if there hadn’t been enough
already, Jimmy reflected bitterly. And hundreds of
steaks, delectable mounds of French fried potatoes,
apple pies by the score, were now being passed
through from the kitchen to the dining-room. At
this very moment little Hofelstanger was stuffing his
already overstuffed little round carcass. “Hell’s
blasted bells!” said Jimmy, as he took himself and
his package outside. If those two young men had
been there, it would have simplified matters, but no,
of course, they had to go running off, without giving
him a chance to explain. A lot of use they were!
Well, what next?

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

158

There was only one thing to do. Yesterday, he
had left the Oldsmobile he had hired in Los Angeles
in a garage up in the main street. He could not
hang around Barstow in this condition, with only
four cents in his pocket, and the sooner he got out
of it, from every point of view, the better. So he
walked as briskly as possible over the railway bridge
to find the garage. There, the man who had taken
over the Oldsmobile yesterday was still on duty,
and a fine stare he gave poor Jimmy.

“You remember me?” said Jimmy, not consider-
ing it necessary or wise to try and explain his odd
appearance to this fellow. “I left an Oldsmobile
here yesterday, round about six o’clock.”

The man still stared, and now he added a not very
pleasing grin to his stare. But he made no comment
on his customer’s appearance. “Sure! Got it right
here.” He led the way inside, with Jimmy follow-
ing. “There she is.”

“Fine!” And Jimmy really felt it was fine. Here,
at least, was the car. Nothing mysterious had hap-
pened to that.

“I filled her up, then checked the oil, like you
said, and gave her a couple o’ quarts, and looked
at that starter. And the water’s okay. She’s ready
now to take you anywheres.”

“Fine!”

“You bet!” And the man fumbled in his pocket
and finally brought out a dirty little bit of paper.
“Gas, oil, garage— just three dollars twenty.”

“Three dollars twenty.” For the moment Jimmy
had clean forgotten, and was about to put out a
hand for a wallet that wasn't there, when he remem-
bered.

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN 15^

‘‘Three dollars and twenty/' the man repeated.
“Here— I’ll show you, if you like. Gas ”

“No, that’s all right. Reasonable enough. Cheap^
in fact. The trouble is— well, I’ve had an accident-
lost my coat, and with it my wallet and cheque-
book ” Jimmy’s voice trailed away, and for the

life of him he couldn’t help feeling a bit of a crook.
There he was with enough even in the Los Angeles
bank to have bought the whole garage and every-
thing in it, and yet he couldn’t help feeling a twister.
Enough to drive a man mad!

“Too bad,” said the garage man, but with ver)
perfunctory sympathy. “What happened?”

“Well,” replied Jimmy lamely, “it’s a long story.”

“I’m not busy.”

This wouldn’t do. He decided to try another
tack. “Now listen,” he began, bluffly, boldly, “my
name’s Edlin— Jimmy Edlin— and I’m staying at the
Clay- Adams in Los Angeles— they know me there all
right— and I bank at the Californian Unity— and
they know me there too ”

“Sure! But does anybody know you here? This
is a long way from Los Angeles. Only been there
twice myself— and didn’t take to it neither.”

“You’ve only got to ring up and ask them, either
at the hotel or at the bank. They both know me—
Jimmy Edlin.”

The man was doubtful. The hotel and the bank,
his expression plainly announced, might know a
Jimmy Edlin, but was this the Jimmy Edlin they
knew? “Well, there’s the car, I guess,” he said dubi-
ously,

“Well, no— that won’t tell you anything. I hired

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

154

“Oh— you hired it, eh?” The man scratched his
nose. He did not appear to like the sound of this
hiring at all. Then, his face cleared, as if he had
aiTived at a solution of the problem. Jimmy looked
at him expectantly.

“We’ll call it three dollars,” said the idiot.

Once again, and now with every reason, Jimmy
lost his temper. “I tell you— you— you— num-
skull — ”

“No names, mister!” said the man sharply. He
understood about names.

“But I’ve told you I haven’t three dollars. I don’t
care whether it’s three dollars or three dollars and
twenty cents— or— for that matter, if it’s ten dollars—
but the point is. I’ve lost my money— and so you’ll
have to trust me, that’s all — ”

“I’ll trust you all right— we have to trust a lot of
people in this business— as long as I know who you
are.”

“But I’ve told you who I am,” cried the maddened
Jimmy, his voice nearly cracking with fury, thirst,
hunger, heat, weariness, and growing madness. “For
God's sake— use your wits.”

“Use your own. You don’t seem to be doing so
well with ’em just now. Losing your coat and your
wallet and what else — ”

“Oh, shut up! I’m taking that car.”

“Here, wait a minute, mister. There’s three
dollars — ”

It was then, when they stood glaring at one
another, not knowing what to do next, that the
second miracle of the day took place. Into that
garage, that dim hell-hole of stupidity and mistrust,
tripped the neatest little figure of a woman, with the

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDUN 155

brightest eyes beneath the sauciest little hat you ever
saw.

“Mrs. Atwood,” roared Jimmy, and pounced
upon her before she could escape.

She started back, as well she might do, at the sight
and sound of this astonishing grimy fellow.

“It’s me— you remember?— Jimmy Edlin.”

“Mr. Edlin? So it is. But— but ”

“I know, I know, you needn’t tell me. Please come
over here a minute.” She followed him into a
comer. “Mrs. Atwood, I can’t begin to tell you all
about it now, but I’ve been having a hell of a time.
I was kidnapped, last night. I escaped this morning,
but I’ve lost my coat with my money and cheque-
book in it— I haven’t had a bite or a drink or a wash
since early yesterday evening— they won’t have me
back at the hotel— I can’t even get my car out of this
garage because I owe them three dollars— and I’m
rocking on my feet, I don’t mind telling you, because
they doped me last night —

“Who did? Not those people?”

“Yes, that tall squinting devil, Brother Kaydick.
This package here belongs to them. I gave them the
slip at Baker. But ten to one they’ll be coming
after me.”

“Mr. Edlin,” she said earnestly, looking hard at
him, “this is true, isn’t it?”

“Mrs. Atwood, it is,” he assured her, even more
earnestly. “Every word’s true— and a lot more there
isn’t time to tell now. You’ve got to help me out
of this— please.”

“But of course! I want to. I wanted to all the
time. That’s why I was so annoyed with you, on the
telephone. Did you notice? I don’t suppose you did.”

156 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“Yes, I did. Jerusalem!— but this is a lump of luck,
coming across you again. Not just because you can
help me— and believe me, I need it— but y’know,
Mrs. Atwood— I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”

Mrs. Atwood had the bright-eyed look of a woman
who would return to that interesting topic later, but
who realised that this was the time for other things.
“Must you go back to Los Angeles, Mr. Edlin?”

“No— except I need some more money— and
clothes. If it wasn’t for that, it’s a waste of time
going back, because whatever that crowd is after—
and it’s something grim, let me tell you— this is the
lively end of it. I’m sure of that now.”

“You see, I have a ranch up here— just a little
place — ”

“You have? That’s why you’re here, then?”

“Yes, you didn’t seem to be interested, when we
talked on the telephone, so I didn’t tell you. But I
have. About forty miles from here. I’ve called for
my car. I always leave it here, because I don’t like
driving down to Los Angeles— I go by train. Yes,
I’ve a little ranch— and I was wondering if it would
help— if you came and stayed a day or two ”

“Mrs. Atwood, that’s a great idea,” he cried en-
thusiastically. “I could telephone or wire the bank
for some money— that would be easy. And I could
work out the next move almost on the spot. Be-
sides,” he added, artfully, “having you there to
explain it all to and have your advice.”

At this she glowed and sparkled away in that dim
comer like a little firework display. “But we
mustn’t go on talking here. You must be dying for
something to eat— poor man.”

“I am. Now there’s just one thing I feel I ought

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN 1 57

to say, Mrs. Atwood, and you mustn’t mind my say-
ing it. You know my name and where I tvas staying
in Los Angeles and that I believe these Brotherhood
fanatics killed my brother— but that’s all. I think I
ought to tell vou, right now, that I’ve done pretty
well for myself lately— I was in China and tlien sold
out— so don’t imagine, because you see me in this
mess, I can’t look after myself or haven’t plenty of
money behind me. You’ll have to believe that,
because I’ll have to borrow some money from you
right away. Of course I can fix it up easily, if you’ve
a bank here.”

Ail this merely made her rather impatient. “Yes,
yes, I understand. But never mind about that now.”

“It’s important.”

“Yes, but don’t you see, Mr. Edlin— and why are
men so stupid?— I’d never have asked you to come to
the ranch if I didn’t believe you were all right. Now,
come on— we mustn’t waste time.”

“That’s true enough. Brother Kaydick, if I know
him, isn’t going to stay quiet at Baker. He’ll be
making a move, you bet.”

Meanwhile, they made some glorious moves. In
a comer of the nearest little restaurant, exhibiting a
sound feminine pleasure in the spectacle, merry and
rosy and bright-eyed, Mrs. Atwood watched him put
away pot roast and baked potatoes and beans and
apple pie and cheese and three cups of coffee. After
that, a new man now, he bought a few necessaries
for the visit. Then, after some discussion, they
decided to go out to the ranch in her car and to leave
his in the garage. She did a little shopping herself,
but was very quick about it, being a very quick,
deft, decisive sort of ivoman. It was still early

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

158

in the afternoon when they set out for the ranch.

They crossed the railroad bridge again, and it
was when they were slowly coming down on the
other side that Mrs. Atwood, who was driving, was
astonished to see her passenger suddenly slump
down in his seat as far as possible and put his hand-
kerchief up to his face. Being a sensible woman,
however, she did not stop the car but began to
accelerate, and looked about her to see what was
wrong. On the other side of the road, a tall man
in dark clothes was talking earnestly to a figure in
uniform, one of the state patrolmen. The tall man
looked across as they passed and she had just time
to notice that he had a bad squint. It was the man
she had seen at the meeting— Brother Kaydick. She
pressed on, turning to the left at the junction of
roads below, going along towards Mohave for about
half a mile, then turning to the right up a steep
side-road. By this time, Jimmy was sitting up again,
and had looked behind more than once.

“That was Kaydick all right,” he told her, rather
reluctantly, “and, if you ask me, he was telling some
fantastic yam— about me and this package— to that
trooper or whatever he was.”

“TTiat’s just what I thought,” she replied, looking
ahead, because the road was narrow, rough and
rather tricky.

Jimmy was apologetic. “You see what that may
mean? 'Iliey may be going to bluff it out and bring
the police in, to try and find me. I’m sorry— but
that’s what it looks like to me.”

“To me too,” she cried. “Isn’t it exciting?” And
her eyes fairly danced.

“Mis. Atwood, do you know what you are? And

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDUN 1 59

I mean this— by thunder! You’re a peach. You don’t
mind me saying so?”

“Not if you really mean it,” she replied, a trifle
confused but showing no signs of annoyance.

Jimmy’s whole being, with that lunch settling
down to work nicely in it, now expanded. He had
dodged Kaydick and Company. He still had the
package. And now if he wasn’t bumping up a
mountain-side, on the way to her ranch, with the
nicest little woman in California. He lit the new
pipe he had just bought, and though it tasted more
of varnish than of tobacco, he puffed at it luxuri-
ously. Well, he had earned a piece of good luck,
and here it was. This was the life.

“I don’t know how you feel about it, but this Mr.
Edlin business doesn’t sound right to me. How
about it? Just Jimmy from now on, eh?”

She agreed, and then, under slight pressure, con-
fessed to being Rosalie herself.

“And you couldn’t have a nicer name,” he cried,
repeating it once or twice, to her confusion.
“Sounds just right.”

As they went up the narrow winding track into a
bright empty world of blue air and shining rock, he
learned a good deal about his new friend, Rosalie
Atwood. Her late husband had been told by the
doctors to leave Philadelphia and to try California.
He had been considerably her senior, and delicate.
They had settled in Riverside, where he had bought
a small business and had done well with it, until he
finally broke down altogether. After his death she
had sold the business, and, after clearing things up
in Riverside, had let her house there, furnished, at
a good rent, and since then had divided her time

i6o THE DOOMSDAY MEN

between travelling and staying with various rela-
tives and this ranch up in the hills. It was a tiny
ranch, she told him, and did not really pay for itself,
but it was cheap to run, with only a Mexican couple
there and an old-timer, a former cowboy, miner,
sheep-man, guide, called Deeks. And she loved the
life up there, so quiet and far away from everything.
Sometimes a relative or two came to stay with her.
Her husband’s brother, much younger and a wild
fellow, Charlie Atwood, who had been a stunt man
in Hollywood for years, sometimes descended on
her, usually when he was broke. He might possibly
be there now. This was the only part that Jimmy,
who had not missed a word, although he was sleepy,
did not like. He could do without this Charlie
Atwood. Women had a trick of talking disparagingly
about “wild fellows’’ and, on the quiet, fancying
them. So now he told her a few fine things about
himself, gave her a picture of himself stalking like a
conqueror through the mysterious East, just to show
that he was as tough as any Charlie Atwoods.

Then he must have dozed off, for he was very
tired and the afternoon, even up here, was quite
warm, for when next he looked about him they were
running down into a small valley, ringed round with
blue-shadowed mountains. There were patches of
green in the bottom of the valley, and water seemed
to sparkle there. As they came nearer, he noticed
some cottonwood trees and a small field or two of
alMfa. It was like an oasis held tenderly in a deep
cup of blue air. Wire fences and some cattle and
horses. Smoke from a low building. Jimmy looked
looked at it all in delight. It was like Mrs. Atwood,
Rosalie, herself, being small, cosy, clean, comfort-

BEING THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. EDLIN l6l

ing. Then he saw, to his astonishment, a long level
field, not far from the ranch-house, a stretch of
ground with nothing growing on it and as smooth
and flat as a brown billiard-table; and, what was
astonishing, there was reposing on this ground an
airplane, a small and battereilooking biplane of
an oldish design but nevertheless an honest-to-God
airplane.

Mrs. Atwood, as she turned in towards the ranch-
house, regarded the airplane with neither surprise
nor enthusiasm, “Yes,” she murmured, “Charlie’s
here.”

They were now running up towards the porch of
the pleasant little ranch-house. “Oh— this is grand,”
cried Jimmy, who after all his troubles really felt at
that moment that he had arrived at a haven of peace.
“You couldn’t want anything better than this. All
on its own, and a marvellous situation, and yet as
cosy as you like. It’s a real home. Peaceful.”

He had no sooner said this than out of the ranch-
house came running and yelling, apparently in
terror of their lives, two middle-aged Mexicans and
three Mexican children and a very thin old man in
patched pants and two dogs and a cat. Out they
came, and from behind them came tremendous
shouts and roars and the clash of broken glass, as if
somebody in there was busy smashing the place to
bits.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Atwood, a little wearily but with-
out any trace of surprise, “Charlie’s here.”

Blinking a little, feeling rather dazed, he followed
her into the house. This looked like being a long
day.

CHAPTER SIX

OUTSIDE THE GATE

I T was rather late when Malcolm came down
to breakfast, for he had not had a very good
night’s sleep and then had dozed on past his
usual time. Barstow seemed to have been up for
hours. The dining-room was deserted. He tried the
lunch-room and there, with his long legs wrapped
round a stool at the counter, was Hooker, cleaning
up what looked to have been once a noble plate of
ham and eggs.

“You see, Darbyshire,” he observed with a grin,
“why Science makes progress while Art stands still.
Art has just got up, but Science has been up and out
these last two hours, making enquiries. And if we’re
going exploring to-day, you’d better have a good
breakfast. The ham’s good.”

“I’ll try it.” Malcolm gave his order, then apolo-
gised to Hooker for being down so late, and asked
if he had discovered anything about the
MacMichaels.

Hooker had. “I figured that if I went round
early, before the fellows were busy, some of them
would know something. Henry MacMichael’s a
multi-millionaire, and he’s not the kind to live in
a shack somewhere. He’ll live in a big way wherever
he is. And even if he gets most of his stuff in from
the Coast, he must use this place now and again.
Besides, those instruments from London had to be

OUTSIDE THE GATE

163

sent here, I knew that. So I went round with a
packet of Luckies. Tried the railroad here first, then
one or two of the garages, and the drug store.”

“The MacMichaels are here, aren’t they,” asked
Malcolm eagerly.

With an air of leisurely enjoyment the other
spread a map out on the counter. He pointed a long
stained forefinger. “Up here somewhere.”

Malcolm leaned over and stared not very hope-
fully at some grim shading on the map. Lava
Mountains. Quail Mountains. Granite Mountains.
Copper City. Leadpipe Spring. Eagle Crags. Not
a very promising lot of names. And he said so.

“I know,” said Hooker. “But between the road
here and this end of Death Valley there’s a little
valley, might be a miniature canyon, and there they
are. None of these fellows has seen the place. If
they had workmen up there, I think they must have
brought ’em in from the Coast. But one fellow had
a brother who’d done a job for them up there. Some
miner who’d struck it rich started building a big
place— like Scotty’s Castle at the north end of Death
Valley— you’ve heard of that, eh?— well, this miner
seems to have died before it was finished, and then
the MacMichaels bought it two or three years ago.
It’s called the Costello, and it’s at Lost Lake. So
what we’re looking for is the Lost Lake Castello,
somewhere about there”— he pointed again— “and if
that isn’t romantic enough for you, my romantic
friend, I give you up.”

“It’s romantic enough,” said Malcolm, “but do
you think it’s true? Why, there isn’t even the ghost
of a road marked here, and they’d have to have some
sort of road.”

164 the doomsday men

“They’ve probably made one since this map was
printed. This is three years old. Don’t worry about
that.’’

“Did you hear anything about the girl— Andrea?’’

Hooker seemed to take even more time than usual
before he replied. “Yes, she’s here all right. Fellow
at the filling-station at the comer knows her. Says
she sometimes drives a big Packard, and stops there
for gas. He described her— dark, good-looking girl—
she’d taken his eye, I guess. She was through here
only about four days ago.”

“Going away?” And Malcolm’s heart sank.

“This fellow thought not. Coming up from the
Coast.”

His heart expanded and rose like a balloon. “Are
you game to go up there as soon as possible.
Hooker?” he asked eagerly.

“Sure! I want an explanation from those two
MacMichaels, and I’m going to have it. But listen,
Darbyshire, are you ready to take a chance, and
rough it a bit? You are? Finel Because I’ve been
thinking we’d better check out of here, and take a
chance on staying somewhere up there. If there
isn’t anything for us, then we might be able to push
over to Death Valley— I was through there oncej
about four years ago— and even if we can’t make
that, well, I’ve got a couple of rugs in the car and
we’ll put some food and drink in— what do you say?”

Malcolm agreed with enthusiasm. What did he
say, indeed! To charge into the mountains and find
that girl again, perhaps to rescue her for ever from
her deep mysterious unhappiness, to break the spell
of Lost Lake and its Gastello— and what did he say!
They must be off at once.

OUTSIDE THE GATE

165

“I’ll get my car out and buy some stuff to eat and
drink,” said Hooker, now enjoying himself too at
the thought of this very unscientific expedition,
“while you pack up here.” He unwound himself
from the stool, and lovingly folded his map. “By the
way, have you thought any more about that fellow
who disappeared last night?”

“Yes, but I still can’t make it out. I’d thought of
asking that reception clerk a few more questions. It
still doesn’t make any sense.”

“Never did. But the way I look at it is this. What-
ever he was, we can’t do any good by hanging about
here. If he was just a crazy drunk, then w’e’re
obviously wasting time. If he wasn’t ”

Malcolm cut in here. “And I think he t^"asn’t,
y’know. Hooker. He might have been the kind of
chap who makes mountains out of mole-hills, but
that’s all. Sorry, go on.”

“Well, if he really was on to something, and they
got him away, then we’re still wasting time hanging
about here, because we’ll know more by going
straight to the MacMidiaels and asking them what
they think they’re doing. Now, I’ll be all set for
going in half an hour. Can you make it?”

Malcolm could and did. He packed a small bag
for the journey, and left his big one at the railway
station. Hooker arrived in a ratlier dingy coup6,
which had, however, a very efficient look.

“Matter of fact, she’s really a very powerful little
brute,” Hooker explained, proudly, “and she’s just
right for this job because she isn’t slung too low and
can climb anything. Be ready for some rough going,
though, because once we’re off the main road we’re
liable to strike some very rough tracks. Now I’ve got

l66 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

enough to eat and drink for at least a couple of days,
so that’s okay. Gasoline’s the real trouble, though.
No filling-stations up there. I’ve got eighteen gallons
in the tank, and we’ll fill up again at the very last
place we come to, and I managed to get three spare
two-gallon tins for emergency. Best I could do. So
let’s go.”

It was a glorious morning, not too hot yet, with
something still left in the air from the chill of the
night, and as clean and bright as a new knife. The
Mohave Desert looked as if it had just been created.
The mountains beyond, brown with faintly-blue
folds in them, might have been just delivered from
some vast cosmographical toy-shop. The heavily-
tarred main road looked like a thin black ruler laid
across a map. The distances were immense. Mal-
colm found himself glancing across empty spaces
into which whole English counties could have been
dropped. They rushed on at seventy miles an houp
and yet hardly seemed to be changing their position.
Soon, as the sun climbed and burned more fiercely,
they began to see mirages: the road in front of them
appeared to be flooded; miraculous pale-blue lakes
glimmered in the distant desert and even reflected
the mesquite bushes; and the far mountain ranges
dissolved and re-assembled themselves magically: it
was like a country in a faintly cruel fairy-tale. The
air was even newer than die landscape; it had
neither age nor weight; nothing, it seemed, had hap-
pened yet in it; history had not yet begun, to load
it with the sorrowful rumours of man’s perpetual
unrest and unhappiness; it blew from a colossal
Eden; and seemed to refresh not only the body but
the spirit. Between the cruel yet enchanting desert

OUTSIDE THE GATE

167

country and the friendly magic o£ the air, and shaken
by the vast trembling expectations of a lover, Mal-
colm was lost indeed. His own small green land, the
gloom and sullen thunder of London, his two rooms
and the office and the unbuilt cottage on the North
Downs, his architecture and tennis and leathery
sedate University Club all fled or were extinguished.
He did not feel himself, but was not yet changed
into anybody else. He was lost, but in a kind of
happy madness. This was a dream, in full glaring
sunlight.

Hooker, who liked driving his car and was nearly
as anxious to have it out with Paul MacMichael as
Malcolm was to confront Andrea again, talked cheer-
fully of this and that, the country they were pass-
ing through, his previous travels, his work and
colleagues. Both young men were in tacit agreement
not to discuss further the object of their journey,
for each felt that there was more than a grain of folly
in his own reason for being there, and hardly any
reason at all, just a sort of pleasant lunacy, in the
other’s motive. Hooker could not see any sense in
threading a way into these mountains merely to
see a girl who had not, he gathered, been very en-
couraging when Darbyshire had met her at the other
side of the world. Malcolm for his part could not
understand what Hooker thought he ivas going to
do when he met the MacMichaels again, for if they
had behaved badly to him in London there seemed
no reason why they should behave any better in this
grim wilderness of theirs. And each knew the other
thought this, and could see that it was not unreason-
able, and felt too insecure to begin arguing about it
So nothing more was said about the most important

i68 the doomsday men

topic, and they talked all the morning about other
things.

Malcolm knew that on these occasions it is best
for one man and one alone to read the map and
decide on routes, and as Hooker knew a little about
this region and was obviously a passionate map-
reader, Malcolm left it to him. He left it to him so,
thoroughly that he dreamily accepted every turning
and new bumpy climb, not knowing where they
were going. They had now left the main road and
were twisting and climbing and crawling on vague
spectres of roads, dim tracks among rocks, ruts in
the sand, more or less in a northerly direction. They
had taken in a few more gallons at a shack that had
told them firmly it was their Last Chance For Gas,
just as if they were now making for the empty roof
of the world. And so, it seemed, they were. They
stopped finally at the very dead end of a track that
Hooker confessed had been a mistake, for it petered
out on a remote little plateau, uncovered to the sun
and frizzling, which contained nothing but some
fantastically-coloured rocks, some very unfriendly
cactus growths, the ruins of a shack, and a mound of
rusted old tins. A faded notice announced that this
was— or had been— the Five Buzzards Mine. It
might have been a mine on a lost continent. But the
whole rocky surface of the plateau glittered decep-
tively, as if promising anything, chiefly with what
Hooker declared to be mica— or fools’ gold. At this
dead end they ate lunch, canned beef and crackers
and fruit from Hooker’s store of provisions. Then
they smoked and looked lazily about them, at the
surrounding summits and long mountain slopes
coloured like Eastern rugs, and far down below

OUTSIDE THE GATE

169

where the alkali deposits looked like a covering of
hoar-frost. Hooker, who was a thorough traveller,
had both a compass and a pair of field-glasses, and
now he used them both, while Malcolm stared in
dreamy astonishment at the wide scene. Hooker
declared he had caught a glimpse of some electric
pylons crossing the slope of a neighbouring hill, and
gave it as his opinion that these might possibly be
running power and light to the MacMichaels’ place,
for otherwise he could not understand how they
came to be there. The MacMichaels, he said, in
their opulence must have arranged to tap the electric
power that ran from Boulder Dam to the Coast. If
they followed the pylons, they had a good chance of
finding their way to the Gastello. But not only were
the pylons some way off, but there was the question
too of finding some sort of track along which the\
could take the car. So first they had to go back a
few miles.

Eventually, in the strange dead middle of the after-
noon, when everything has lost its colour and savour,
they came to a track that was the twin of that which
had led them only to the forgotten mine, but which
Hooker thought was going in the right direction.
This track ran along, in a dejected fashion, and with
many a bad place in it where it crossed the steep
washes, for about six miles, and then, just beyond
a sharp rise, and just when they were beginning to
think they had been deceived again, it joined a
much broader and smoother track that, in this place
and in this weather, could almost be considered a
good road. It was not marked at all on the map,
though it showed signs of much usage, and Hooker
said that this was in their favour, because the-

M

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

MacMichaels must have had to make some such road
as this, for their own traffic. It led them, with some
sharp curves to avoid fallen boulders, round the
side of a granite mountain, then down into a rock-
strewn valley that was empty of all life; and it was
here that they noticed the line of pylons curving
down and then running up the farther slope, well
above the road itself.

“This is it, I guess,” said Hooker, after stopping
and using his field-glasses. “The line goes over the
top there, and I’ll bet you ten dollars this Lost Lake
canyon— or whatever they call it— is on the other
side. I don’t suppose this is the only way in.
There’s probably at least another road to it, from
the other side, but, at that, they’ve used this quite
a lot since the last big rains. Look at those tracks.
They’ve had quite a few trucks along here— and
not such little ones either.”

“What’s that up there?” asked Malcolm pointing
forward at a speck near the place where this road
curved out of their sight.

Hooker examined it, then handed the glasses over.
“Looks like a miner’s cabin or a small ranch-house
to me. Not their place, of course, not big enough.
The fellow in Barstow whose brother had worked
up there told me that this Gastello of the
MacMichaels was an elaborate affair, towers and
what not, with room for plenty of people. But if
anybody’s living in that shack, they’ll be able to tell
us something. Let’s get on.”

They rushed through the valley at a smart pace,
and then climbed the rather stiff gradient at the
other side, where the road showed traces of the
battles that the heavy motor-trucks had fought

OUTSIDE THE GATE

171

there. Towards the top o£ the road the slopes on
each side were much steeper, until at the very top,
where the road vanished from view, they were almost
like the jaws of a goi^e.

“If they do live somewhere on the other side,”
said Malcolm, “they’ve a fine natural entrance.
Almost like a gateway. That hut there is bigger than
I thought, and I think I can see smoke, so there must
be somebody there. It’s a little off the road.”

As they neared the top, his excitement mounted
too. Was this the enchanted place, the castle of the
sleeping princess? Would he, in another minute or
two, be looking down on the mysterious towers her
father had built in this wilderness? Was this the end
of so many, many hours, since they had stood
together looking down on the glittering Riviera,
hours of confused thinking and dreaming, vast
vague hopes, self-reproaches, idiotic determinations?

“I believe we’re here,” he cried, in his excitement.

“Take it easy, boy,” Hooker replied, with a grin.

Leaving the shack a little to the right, where it
was perched above the road, with a fine look-out
down into the valley, they swept forward to the
summit of the road, but only to find the way barred,
and barred just short of the summit, so that they
could not see into the valley or canyon beyond. It
was a thorough job too, and a recent one. A high
and strong fence, made of both plain and barbed
wire, came down at each side, descending from each
wall of rock, and these fences met at a high and new
metal gate, covering the width of the road. On this
gate was a notice as new and bold as itself: Lost
Lake. Strictly Private. And they soon discovered,
on getting out, that the gate was securely locked.

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

172

Standing there, they looked at one another in a
mixed fashion, a trifle disappointed at being held
up, but still triumphant at having found the place.

Hooker looked about him shrewdly, and Malcolm
tried to follow his example, although he was still too
excited to be very observant.

“There go the pylons,” said Hooker, pointing.
“There’s a telephone line too. See it, just by the
shack there. I suppose the fellow up there thought
he might as well be on the telephone while they were
about it.” He went nearer the gate and fences,
looked closely at them, and then turned. “If you
ask me, they can electrify this little outfit, and give
it plenty of juice too. If you walked into that on
a dark night and they had the current turned on,
you might be fried in no time. But they can turn
lights on.” And he pointed up to two powerful
lights above the gate that Malcolm had not noticed
before.

“I don’t like this, y’know, Darbyshire,” Hooker
continued, returning from his inspection and light-
ing a cigarette, “I don’t like it at all. Down there
in Barstow— in tact, a long time before I arrived in
Barstow— I’d begun to think I was imagining things,
like our mysterious pal last night. Now I’m not so
sure.”

“Well, I don’t know,” protested Malcolm. “After
all if they want to be private, y’know. Hooker-
why shouldn’t they keep people out?”

“If it was back East I could understand it. But
they don’t do things like this in the West. People
don’t shut themselves up and tell you to keep out.
Why should they? A place like this isn’t just off
Main Street. And look at the expense and trouble

OUTSIDE THE GATE 1 73

they’ve gone to— I tell you, it’s screwy.” He looked
thoughtfully at Malcolm.

The latter was not sure what “screwy” meant, but
he could see what Hooker, not gi\en to imagining
things, was driving at. And now there came, not to
subdue his excitement but to change its colour and
flavour, a sudden sense of the inexplicable and
sinister. This quality of things had been there, he
had already felt dimly, in Andrea’s mysterious back-
ground, and now that he had crossed the world and
at last come within a mile or two of the girl herself,
with the very country of that background piled up
round him, he realised it very sharply and un-
pleasantly. And somehow here, standing in front of
a fence that could easily annihilate an intruder, it
did not seem absurdly improbable that their
acquaintance of last night, Edlin, should have dis-
appeared so mysteriously. Now there seemed to be
nothing to prevent this and even stranger things
happening. The dream through which he had
moved all day was taking on something of a night-
mare aspect. Rather impatient with himself, he
looked round again, then pointed up at the shack.

“There’s somebody outside now,” he remarked,
trying to be casual. “We’d better go up and ask him
what happens "here.”

They ran the car up to the tiny porch of the shack,
for there was an uneven but easily passable track
up from the road, and as they covered the few
hundred yards there. Hooker observed: “Looks like
a typical Western old-timer. We’ll go easy with him.
They’re queer, slow old cusses, most of these chaps.
Comes from having spent most of their lives in
places like this.”

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

174

The old-timer, dressed in a faded maroon shirt
and blue jeans, was an oldish fellow with an unruly
thatrh of hair, very white against his leathery brown
wrinkled face, which also set in relief his clear-blue,
candid eyes. He was enjoying a corncob pipe, with
an immense sense of leisure. He appeared to come
out of a deep and very agreeable reverie in order to
obseive their existence and address them; and both
his appearance and manner suggested the Will
Rogers type of homely philosopher and humorist.
He was almost too good to be true.

“Well, folks,” he remarked, without malice and
quite simply, “you’ll have taken the wrong road, I
reckon.”

Malcolm was about to reply, but felt a nudge
from Hooker, who replied casually: “We didn’t
know this road was closed here.”

“Shorely is. Then again it ain’t, ’cos it don’t go
no place, bein’ private.” He said this very slowly,
almost tasting his words, as if they all had unlimited
time for this chat and might as well make the most
of it. “But didn’t you see the notice ’long there at
Blackwater where she turns off the public highway,
tellin’ you this don’t lead nowhere?” There was
nothing sharp, cross-questioning about this query:
he seemed to ask out of mild curiosity.

“No, we didn’t come that way,” Hooker explained
carefully. “We struck this road just over the other
side— there was a rough track, and I’d lost my way
before that, and had to take several of these tracks —
so we never saw any notice. It must have been much
farther along.”

The old-timer thought a moment or two, then
said slgwly, keeping his candid blue gaze fixed on

OUTSIDE THE GATE

175

Hooker: “I reckon you must ha’ been out Five
Buzzards way.” When he had heard that they had
eaten their lunch near the old mine, he nodded in
slow-motion, and continued: “You were smart, I’m
thinking, not to have lost yourselves under Five
Buzzards, but mebbe if you’d been smarter you’d
not ha’ been out that way at all. Ain’t prospectin’?
No, I figured you weren't prospectin’.”

“Just looking round, that’s all,” replied Hooker.

“Easterners, I reckon?”

“I am. He’s an Englishman.”

The old-timer turned his candid blue gaze now
on Malcolm, who felt he was being examined—
though with no intentional rudeness— as a new
specimen.

“That so? Well, I ain’t seen an Englishman this
long time. Worked with one once, though, out at
BuUfrog.” He paused, shook the mouthpiece of his
pipe, wiped it on his jeans, then resumed. “So you’re
two young fellers just lookin’ round, eh? And now
you’re at the top o’ the wrong road, an’ a long way to
go back to anywhere. Well, I reckon that comes of
bein’ in a hurry— even when you don’t know where
)ou’re goin’, you young fellers now’s in a mighty
hurry— and comes of not lettin’ her run just
natural. That’s what I’m always saying to Maw.
‘Now then, Maw,’ I says, ‘just let her run natural,
that’s all.’ ”

As if waiting for her name to be mentioned as a
cue to enter the scene Maw now came out of the
shack. She was the feminine counterpart of her
husband, a small leathery elderly woman, though
younger than he was and grimmer, more suspicious,
as if life under these conditions was harder for the

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

176

female than for the male. She hardly glanced at
the newcomers, and Malcolm felt that she did not
need to because she had already had a good look at
them through the window.

“What’s this you’re sayin’. Paw?’’ she enquired.

Paw winked all round. “I’m just a-tellin’ how I
asks you to let everything just run natural.”

“You and your run natural!” she replied, with
scorn. “And have you come far?”

“From Barstow,” said Hooker.

“Take a powerful lot o’ gasoline to get back to
Barstow,” observed the old-timer.

Hooker replied vaguely that it would, and now
changed the subject. “No, we didn’t see the notice.
Who does this belong to?” He tried to be as casual
as possible, but Malcolm could not help fancying
that he had not been quite successful.

The old-timers, however, did not appear to notice
anything. Maw left the answer to Paw, but did not
leave them.

“Some folks by the name o’ MacMichael.”

“MacMichael.” Hooker repeated the name as if
he had never heard it before. Malcolm tried to
look uninterested.

“What’s the idea— wiring themselves in like this?”
asked Hooker, not disguising his curiosity in this
matter.

“Eastern ways, I reckon. What would you say,
Maw? Maw’s folks came from back East, an’ there’s
times when she lets me know it— eh. Maw?”

Maw did not reply and Malcolm, suddenly look-
ing up, was rather disconcerted to find she was
staring hard at him.

“That power line,” said Hooker, pointing, “must

OUTSIDE THE GATE

177

join the one coming from Boulder Dam. The people
here must have arranged to have a sub-station
specially for them. That must have cost them some-
thing.”

“Mebbe it did, but I couldn’t rightly say. Seems
you know more about it than I do, but then you
might be in the electrical line o’ business yourself,
eh?”

Hooker replied that he wasn’t, but knew some-
thing about it. There was now a long pause. Maw
rocked herself vigorously in a little chair; Paw
smoked peacefully; and the two young men stood in
front of them feeling rather awkward. Around them
the afternoon waned, with magnificent blue
shadows.

“Jove— I’m thirsty,” Malcolm announced, not
merely to break the silence or out of policy but
simply because he was thirsty.

“So am I,” said Hooker, giving the old-timer a
glance.

He responded amiably. “You betl You can have
a pitcher o’ good water— cold as ice water it is,
straight out o’ the mountain— or Maw might make
us all a cup o’ coffee.”

“I wish,” said Hooker, not without tact, “you’d
sell us a jug of good strong coffee.”

Maw nodded, then looked at Paw, who also
nodded. “What Maw means by that is that we ain’t
sellin’ no coffee— but you can have a cup with us an’
welcome— so long as we let it all run natural and
put it on a proper straight visitin’ footing. My
name’s Larrigan, which makes Maw Mrs. Larrigan,
though she ain’t none too proud of it, far as I’ve
seen. And what may yours be?”

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

178

They were only too glad to humour the old fellow,
and gave him their names and told him where they
came from, and, when he asked a further question,
what they did when they were at home.

“There, Maw,” he announced, with a twinkling
sort of humorous pride, very much in character,
“you can set to makin’ your coffee an’ know who’s
visitin’ with you this afternoon— Mr. Darbyshire,
who builds houses over there in England, and Dr.
Hooker, a scientific professor from back East.”

Maw smiled and nodded. “Shorely, Pawl An’ if
you’ll just show ’em what there is to see. I’ll have
everything ready when you come back.”

Mr. Larrigan, in his own leisurely fashion, now
joined them, while his wife went bustling indoors,
and drawling away he took them at an easy pace up
the steep ground at the back of the shack, past
several outhouses, to a spot where he said they
would have the best view. Here they stood and
gazed at the distant shining peaks and down into the
valley, already deep in shadow though there were
one or two shafts of golden light still finding their
way into it, and Mr. Larrigan carefully pointed out
this peak and that, exchanged geological informa-
tion with Hooker, who found him more knowledge-
able than he had expected, and told them one or
two mining stories. He said nothing more about
the MacMichaels, and never even referred again to
the road below, which to Malcolm had MacMichael
traced all along it. Indeed, Malcolm found it hard
not to keep his eyes fixed on that road, and once or
twice Mr. Larrigan had caught him at it, when he
ought to have been looking where Mr. Larrigan’s
finger was pointing, and Malcolm fancied that the

OUTSIDE THE GATE

179

old chap had then given him a sharp look. But then
the old gossip probably didn’t like to think he was
not succeeding in entertaining his visitors. And
Malcolm felt it a pity he could not explain that he
was looking down there because every moment he
hoped he would see a girl in a car; for he liked
Mr. Larrigan and hated to hurt his feelings. Evi-
dently Mrs. Larrigan was as leisurely as her husband,
for she took a long time preparing that cofiEee. At
last, even Mr. Larrigan himself had to acknowledge!
that.

“Maw don’t seem to be lettin’ things run natural
down there,’’ he observed, in his own vein of grave
waggery. “Seems to me we bin waitin’ some time
for that cofiEee. But it’ll be good when it comes.
Maw’s shore slow when she’s in that humour, but
she don’t do no sloppin’ an’ messin’ about, same as
so many womenfolk, an’ call it cookin’. An’ I’m
hopin’ there might be a slice o’ pie for us, the way
things is goin’. Reckon we’ve all earned a slice o’
pie waitin’ this long. Now there she is— wavin’ an’
screechin’ as if she’d bin doin’ the waitin’ an’ not
us. Come an’ get it. All right. Maw,” he called
down, in his thin high voice, “just let her run
natural— we’re cornin’. This way, folks, it’s shorter
by a step or two.”

The shack faced west, and some of the gold piling
up magnificently in the sky spilled in, to show them
as they entered a neat cosy living-room, as unpre-
tentious and homely as the Larrigans themselves,
and a table rich with pie and cookies and the
heavenly smell of good cofiEee.

“Everything runnin’ natural. Maw?” asked Mr.
Larrigan.

l8o THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“Yes, Paw, but before you set down to your
coffee, you better come round an’ help me with the
water— that pump’s stickin’ again. No,” as Hooker
and Malcolm offered to help, “you set right down
an’ help yourselves. Me an’ Paw can fix this in no
time.”

The coffee was very good. The apple pie looked
very good too: it was not one of those pies in which
the crust and the fruit are still leading separate
existences and continue being at odds inside the
eater; you could see at once that in this artful golden
confection the pastry had probably shared its essen-
tial fat goodness with the fruit, which had im-
mediately responded by covering the hollows in the
crust with its own jellied sweetness. Malcolm and
Hooker looked at that pie, and then at one another.

“Have a piece of pie, Darbyshire?”

“Thanks, Hooker. But after you.”

“No, here you are.”

Mr. Larrigan had done only the barest justness
to his wife’s capacity as a creator of pies. There
might be something rather grim and formidable
about Mrs. Larrigan; she might be too little aware
of the easier feminine graces, too contemptuous of
womanly charm; she might be disinclined at times—
in Mr. Larrigan’s great phrase— to let things run
natural; but she could make a pie.

“Hooker,” said Malcolm, rather sternly, "we must
insist upon paying for this.”

“I doubt if they’ll take anything. These old
Westerners have their own pride.”

“I know. And I appreciate it. But unless we agree
that they must be paid, I don’t like taking another
piece of pie.”

OUTSIDE THE GATE l8l

“We must pay them then, Darbyshire, because
I’m going to have another piece.”

After a further interval, Malcolm said dreamily:
“I don’t ever remember eating pie and drinking
coffee at this time of day before, but there’s some-
thing to be said for it. I believe I' could stay here
a week or two, just sitting out there, staring at the
mountains and dropping a philosophical remark
now and then, and coming in three or four times
a day for more coffee and pie. Not a bad life at all.
Nothing to worry about. That’s what’s the matter
with us. Hooker. Look at these people. They don’t
care.”

“Not a hoot, I guess. They’ve enough to live on,
and plenty of space, and peace and quietness,” said
Hooker. “If I hadn’t some work to do, this would
be the kind of life I’d like to lead. Think of all
these business men worrying themselves sick and
silly, into the grave— and all for what? Pa Larrigan
here is better off than any of them.”

“Nice old boy. Pa Larrigan. I took to him at
once.”

“Typical old-timer. I’ve met lots of ’em.”

“Didn’t tell us much about the MacMichaels, did
he?”

“No. Wasn’t interested, I guess. And these
Western folks, though they seem to say anything
that comes into their heads, are inclined to be
cautious really.”

“I was amused at the way in which they insisted
upon knowing our names and a bit more about us,
before they’d ask us in for coffee.” And Malcolm
smiled.

Hooker did not look amused, but rather puzzled.

i 82 the doomsday men

“I didn’t quite get that,” he confessed. “That’s not
the usual thing with these people. But living right
out here, I guess — ” He ended with a shrug.

The two young men lit cigarettes, and ruminated.
It was very peaceful in there. The Golden Fleece
itself was now piling up in the western sky. This
was not the moment to begin planning again. Let
things look after themselves for a little while: let
them run just natural.

But Malcolm, looking out to enjoy the mag-
nificent sky, found himself remarking: “The old
couple seem to be very curious about your car,
Hooker.”

This did not surprise Hooker, who knew that all
good Americans have a deep and abiding passion
for the automobile. Only the year before, one after-
noon as he was going down Lexington Avenue
during a brief visit to New York, he had noticed
the unusual look of awed and reverent expectation
on the faces of all the people approaching a large
building and had then remembered it was the
week of the Automobile Show. So he did not rise,
but casually enquired what the Larrigans were
doing.

“Poking round it,” replied Malcolm. “Pa’s inside
now.”

Hooker chuckled. “There are one or two little
gadgets of mine on that board that’ll give him some-
thing to think about.”

“He looks thoughtful,” Malcolm continued. “He’s
getting out now. He’s coming back. So is Ma.
She’s looking grimmer than ever. I hope she won’t
mind about her pie. You’ve made it look pretty
silly, y’know. Hooker.”

OUTSIDE THE GATE

183

“I have. GoshI— you’d twice as much, Darbyshire.
Not that I blame you. I tried pie and coffee over
in England. You’re right to make the most of your
chances.”

“Seems to me, Hooker,” said Malcolm, falling
into the same vein, “you were too busy in England
going on switchbacks and wearing false noses and
picking up shop-girls, to know what sort of grub we
have.”

Pa Larrigan stood in the open doorway, and sur-
veyed them in his own easy candid fashion.

“Mr. Larrigan,” cried Malcolm, “the pie was
marvellous. You must let us pay for what we’ve had.
It’s not fair to come here and eat you out of your
house ”

“Call it your supper,” said Mr. Larrigan briskly.
“Now then, young fellers, step outside.”

There was such an odd change in his tone and in
the look in his eye that first they stared at him and
then at one another.

“Come on, step outside, before there’s trouble.
And you can have trouble, if you want it.” And
now he showed them, as he stepped back on to the
porch, to allow them to come out, a very nasty-
looking revolver that seemed to have seen much
service.

They stared, wondering if this was some elaborate
joke. But the genial, homely Western philosopher
and humorist appeared to have vanished. There
was a very hard and uncompromising look about
Mr. Larrigan now. His tone was harsh. There was
cold blue fire in his eyes— to say nothing of the
revolver in his hand. They went out, still staring.
Mrs. Larrigan appeared round the comer.

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

184

“Mrs. Larrigan,” cried Hooker, protesting,
“what’s this?”

“This, young feller,” said Mrs. Larrigan grimly,
deliberately mistaking his meaning, “is a shot-gun,
and if you think I can’t use it, you don’t know me.
Jest do what Paw tells yer, if you don’t want to get
hurt”

“Got another key to your car?” asked Mr. Larri-
gan sternly.

“No,” replied Hooker, not convinced yet that this
wasn’t their idea of a joke.

“Well, I’ve got the one that was in the car, so
don’t think you can get away. It’s a long walk to
anywhere. And you can’t get that way.” He
pointed towards the wire fence. “Don’t try it, young
fellers. Did you open that door. Maw?”

“Shorely did. Paw.”

“Mr. Larrigan,” cried Malcolm earnestly. “I was
just going to thank you both for being so kind and
hospitable to a couple of strangers. But if you’re
serious about this, let me tell you I think it’s a
damned dirty trick.”

“And so do I,” said Hooker angrily. “I didn’t
know Westerners asked strangers in to have a bite
and a drink, and then did this to them.”

These reproaches had no effect upon Mrs. Larri-
gan, who told them to be quiet, but her husband
looked a trifle shame-faced.

“My orders is to keep you here, boys, till I know
what they want to do with you,” he said, with some
trace of apology in his tone.

“But you can’t have had any orders,” said
Malcolm, bewildered.

“The telephone,” said Hooker, out of the comer

OUTSIDE THE GATE

185

of his mouth. “After we told them who we were,
she must have rung up the MacMichaels and told
them. They gave the orders.”

“Now come on, Paw, we’re not going to stand
here jest chattering.”

“Move on, boys,” Larrigan commanded. “We’re
puttin’ you in that shack up there till you’re
wanted.”

The two young men glanced at one another, then
with a shrug walked slowly round the back, and,
under the directions of Larrigan, who followed
them, entered a small bare shack, which contained
nothing but a couple of rough bunks, an old blanket
or two, some sacking, a little tin stove and a little
heap of wood.

"Here’s your place for the night, boys, or till
you’re wanted,” said Larrigan at the door. “And it’s
orders and can’t be helped. If you’re ready to take
it easy— just letting her run natural— then that’s okay
with me. But if you try any tricks, you’ll find we’re
good an’ tough around here. So better make the
best of it.”

“And how long are we supposed to stay here?”
demanded Hooker.

“Couldn’t rightly say. Till morning, anyhow.”

“Then you might let us have our things out of
the car,” said Malcolm.

Larrigan nodded. “Let you have some of ’em,
mebbe. No orders sayin’ I shouldn’t.” He locked
them in, and departed.

They examined the shack thoroughly. There was
a small window, and it would not be difficult to
smash the thin wooden strips that held the panes,
clear all the glass away, then climb out.

l86 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“No use to-night, though,” said Hooker. “We
couldn’t do anything if we got out.”

“Well, I wondered once or twice what we were
going to do to-night,” replied Malcolm, pretending
to be more cheerful than he felt, “and now it’s been
neatly settled for us.”

When Larrigan returned, with his wife behind
him, he dumped into the shack the two rugs, some
of their things, and the provisions that Hooker had
bought in Barstow. If he had overheard their re-
marks, he could not have spoken more exactly to the
point. “You might get out by smashing that
window,” he observed calmly, “but I’ve a dog out
here, an’ he’ll bark, an’ me an’ Maw happens to be
light sleepers. Then when I put you back in here, it
won’t have a window, that’s all, an’ it’s cold up here
nights. So I shouldn’t try it, boys, jest for your
own good. Light your stove if you feel like it, but
don’t call for no more wood because you won’t git
none— we’re short o’ wood in these parts. Let her
run natural, boys, that’s my advice,” he concluded,
with a slightly sardonic emphasis.

“You go to hell,” said Hooker irritably.

Pa Larrigan only chuckled as he slammed and
locked the door on them.

"Now do you believe that chap Edlin was only
a crazy drunk?” asked Malcolm, as they sat on the
edge of their bunks.

“No. And I wish he was here with us.” Hooker
stared at the little tin stove. “You see what hap-
pened. They just kidded us along, of course.”

"I know that part all right,” said Malcolm bitterly.
“I thought that name business a bit queer at the
time.”

OUXSXDE THE GATE

187

“While the artful old devil had us up on the hill-
side, well away from the house, his wife was tele-
phoning to Lost Lake to say that that couple of saps,
Mr. Darbyshire the architect from London, and Dr.
Sap-brained Hooker of the Weinberger Institute of
Technology, had come prying round. Old Larrigan
knew, of course, from the word ‘go’ we hadn’t simply
got lost but were up to something. That’s what he’s
here for— the nice simple old-timer.”

“Yes, I can see all that. But why did they tell
them to keep us here?”

“Search me! If they’d told us to get out and mind
our own business, I could understand it,”

Malcolm thought for a moment. “If Andrea’s
there— well, she knows my name, of course. But
either she’d ask them to tell me to go away or she’d
come out here herself. What I can’t see her doing
is telling them to take out their guns and have me
locked up for the night. And the others— her father
—and her uncles, if they are her uncles— I’m still
confused about all that— don’t know anything about
me. So I can’t make it out.”

“I don’t want to be egoistical, Darbyshire,” said
Hooker dryly, “but I must tell you that I think it’s
me— and not you— they’re interested in. Both Paul
and Henry MacMichael know my name all right,
and they know very well I wouldn’t be poking round
up here if I wasn’t on to them again. They tried to
frame me over there in England, and now they’re
having me locked in for the night here. And my
guess is this. Paul MacMichael is on the other side
of that wire fence, and he’s working at something
very big. And either he’s going to tell me himself
to keep away and stay away or— and this is just

l88 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

possible— and— gosh!— it’s an exciting notion— he’s in
some sort of jam with his experiment and wants me
to take a look at it. I know that isn’t likely— he’s
not the kind who wants to let you in on anything—
but it’s just possible. Gee!— that would be a break.
I’d forgive ’em everything for that.”

Afterwards, when it had been dark some time
and they had the stove going and had made the
shack as snug as possible, Malcolm broke a long
silence by saying, “I’ve been thinking. We might as
well try to work this whole thing out. I feel we’ve
been dodging it rather.”

“Dodging what?”

“Dodging the issue, I suppose. We’re not really
pooling our evidence, to begin with. We ought to
put everything we know together, then try to deduce
something from it.”

“But— no, go on.”

Malcolm waited, however, until Hooker, who
appeared to think he was in for a long session, made
himself comfortable by removing his collar and tie
and shoes and then stretching out his long legs on
the bunk. They both began smoking again. For-
tunately, they had brought along plenty of cigarettes.

“Now then,” said Malcolm, “I’ll begin with my
little bit. I know it’s the least important, from this
point of view, though I think it’s more important
than you imagine.”

“The trouble is, there’s a girl in it, as I told you
before.”

"Yes, I’ve heard all that,” replied Malcolm, with
some impatience. “But just listen. I meet this
Andrea MacMichael and I feel there’s something
wrong with her. Obviously she isn’t ill or anything.

OUTSIDE THE GATE

189

We know it’s nothing to do with money. What is it?”

“Some love aflEair,” the other gloomily suggested.

“No, I’m sure it wasn’t that. You can tell. She
wasn’t— how shall I put it?— her real self, the sort of
girl she ought to have been, and really was inside.
She was repressed and unhappy, and she told me
nothing was any use— which is dam’ silly— and really
meant it.” He reflected a moment. “It was as if
she’d been brought up to believe nothing was any
use, that life was hardly worth living, and had come
to believe it— in a dreary sort of way.”

“She sounds a dreary girl to me.”

“No— that’s the point— she isn’t, really. Under-
neath that cold covering, as if she’d been packed in
ice, there was somewhere a grand girl— that’s what
I felt all the time. Now she’s Henry MacMichael’s
daughter, we know. She never talked about him.
She never talked about her life here at all. Why?”

“It’s unusual, certainly,” said Hooker. “The girls
I used to know would go gassing on for hours about
their families and homes. I thought all women
did.”

“Well, she didn’t. You’d think a girl who was
living in a fantastic sort of modern castle among
these mountains, miles from anywhere, would have
plenty to say about it— but she didn’t. She was very
secretive. Why?”

“If you’re asking me, you needn’t. I give it up.”

“I’m asking myself, I suppose, seeing you’re so
useless. But, take it from me, there’s a mystery there.
Mystery Number One, which brings me here— like
the chump I am. Now how does that connect with
Mystery Number Two— yours?”

“I’ve told you what I think. Paul MacMichael,

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

190

the late Professor Engelfield, cleared out, dis-
appeared, changed his name back again, because he’s
on to something new in his— and my— field of work,
atomic structure. He’s money of his own, and now
he has his brother Henry to back him up. Ten to
one he has his lab. in this Lost Lake place. And
whatever he’s doing, he doesn’t want me or anybody
else to butt in. At least, he didn’t. He may have
other ideas now he’s made me stay here until wanted.
That’s all I can tell you, Darbyshire. It may pos-
sibly be something that Henry MacMichael thinks
he can exploit commercially— which may explain the
secrecy— but knowing Paul and the sort of work he
does, I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Mystery Number Two, then,” cried Malcolm,
now warming up. “The first is— -why is Andrea
MacMichael so secretive and unhappy? 'The second
is— what are Paul MacMichael and his brother up
to here? And now we come to our friend Edlin.
Let’s assume he meant everything he said. I’ve been
going over all he told us last night. Now he didn’t
know anything about my approach to this business,
had never heard of Andrea — ”

“And he knew nothing about Paul.”

“Right. He said— unless I’m sadly mistaken— that
his brother, the reporter, had probably been mur-
dered by a religious sect called the Brotherhood of
the Judgment — ”

“Los Angeles is full of ’em.”

“Yes, but the others don’t go murdering and kid-
napping people. Now he’d got some information
from his brother’s notebook, had gone to their
meeting,’ gone behind the scenes, so to speak, because
he happened to know their passwords, and arranged

OUTSIDE THE GATE

191

to go to Barstow, where one o£ their men— what did
they call them?— wasn’t it servers?— something like
that— was to meet him and take him to their leader
—Father John, otheiwise John MacMichael, whom
we know to be a brother of these other two queer
fish. These brethren or whatever they call them-
selves are gloomy religious fonatics, and he told us
definitely they were up to something. And before
we could compare notes, they’re on to him again,
and he’s whisked away— by some trick about a
doctor.”

“I wonder,” said Hooker with a grin, “if he’s
somewhere on the other side of that fence?”

“If you remember,” replied Malcolm gravely, “he
said he was sure they were going to kill him, or that’s
what he thought when he was in that car with them.
Mystery Number Three now— what is this Brother-
hood doing, that it’s ready to kidnap or murder
people who seem to know too much? Remember,
they’re fanatics, who are looking forward— according
to Edlin— to something grisly happening.”

“I wouldn’t take too much notice of that,” said
Hooker. “Those people always like the gloomier
bits of the Bible. They’re usually farmers who look
forward to seeing the wicked city folks burning in
hell. But— I’ll admit one thing— if you could work
on them properly, they’d make a thundering good
bodyguard or something of that sort— they’d be
completely loyal— and they’re probably tough. Like
these Lanigans. They’d be a darned sight better
than hired gunmen, at that. Listen, Darbyshire,” he
continued, with more excitement than he usually
displayed, “this is where it might all link up. John
MacMichael, we’ll say, is some kind of religious

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

192

loony— the Hitler of the Brotherhood of the Judg-,
ment— and so Paul and Henry say to him ‘Gome and
live with us, and we can use your big boys from
Los Angeles, give some of the tougher ones a nice
job.’ Meanwhile they get on with the real work,
keeping well out of everybody’s way, and importing
a lot of apparatus. I know for a fact they’ve done
that. You see what that means?”

‘‘No. What?”

Hooker sounded aggrieved in his reply. ‘‘It means
it can’t be some purely scientific experiment. There’s
a commercial angle to it, obviously, or there
wouldn’t be all this elaborate secrecy and flourishing
of guns and what not. They’re fooling about, try-
ing to make a new precious metal or some rubbish
of that sort. I’m surprised at Paul MacMichael, but
I suppose the family spirit’s been too strong for
him.” Hooker was quite disgusted. ‘‘That’s the
only possible explanation. And they think we’re
being employed by some rival commercial gang. It’s
disappointing, but there it is.”

‘‘There it isn’t.”

‘‘What do you mean?”

‘‘I mean, that may possibly explain your mystery,
possibly Edlin’s— though about that, I’m doubtful—
but it just doesn’t begin to explain mine. No girl
is going to behave as Andrea MacMichael did at
Beaulieu, merely because her father and her uncle
are pottering about with metals. I don’t care if it’s
the most tremendous commercial discovery of the
age, that’s not going to make a girl like Andrea so
secretive and mysterious and unhappy. You’d see
in a minute what I meant if you met her.”

‘‘I doubt it,” said Hooker, shaking his head over

OUTSIDE THE GATE

193

the whole mysterious sex and its bewildering and
inexplicable antics and tantrums, “but I do see your
argument. If the whole girl angle isn’t just your
fancy, then my explanation won’t do— I can see
that.’’

There was a long silence, only broken at times by
the howling of the wind through the passes and
down the valley and by an occasional shake or creak
of the thin wooden walls. Through his brooding,
Malcolm was now aware of the strange remoteness
of their situation here, and of the fentastic character
of their position. What was he doing here, in a
shack in the mountains above the Mohave Desert,
a prisoner for the night at least, perhaps for longer,
with a young American physicist, whom he had only
known about twenty-four hours? And somewhere
among these mountains, a prisoner like them or
perhaps dead by this time, was a middle-aged
adventurer from China and Honolulu, who had
arrived on a similar quest to theirs. He remembered
now what Edlin had said about their meeting at
Barstow, that it could not have been a coincidence.

He looked thoughtfully across at Hooker’s long
lean face. “It is queer, y’know. Hooker,” he began
slowly, “that the three of us should have met like
that, last night. Perhaps Edlin was right. I mean,
that it wasn’t a coincidence.”

“I’d say it was. Careful, Darbyshire, don’t start
being romantic.”

“But I was just thinking then how unscientific it
was of you to suppose a thing like this is all pure
chance. In the world of elements that you explore,
surely you keep on finding that what was once
thought to be pure chance isn’t really chance at all.

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

194

that it isn’t a mere accident, for instance, when
certain elements combine in a certain way to form
certain compounds. Why do we assume— as most of
us do assume now— that in human afEairs it’s always
chance that rules, that there’s nothing in our lives
but accidents and coincidences?”

“Because,” replied Hooker promptly, “we don’t
know enough about them to say anything else.”

“You mean, we’re mixed up in it, not standing
well out of it, just trying experiments and compar-
ing results. But I can’t help wondering whether it
really was chance that I decided, at the last moment
almost, to go down to Beaulieu for the tournament,”

“Otherwise, you wouldn’t have met the beautiful
Andrea,” Hooker mocked, but good-humouredly.
“All right, old son. You can go right on, telling me
all about the lovely princess. I’ve had to go through
it before, and I guess I can stand it.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that part of it, you ass,”
said Malcolm. “I was thinking that if I hadn’t gone
there, I shouldn’t be here. And you— for all you’re
so damned high-and-mighty and detached and
scientific— are pulled along by the same string, for
here you are. So was Edlin, just at the time we were
too. How do we know that’s mere chance? Suppose
we were brought here- by some power we don’t
understand— to do something?”

“What?”

Malcolm looked rather confused, shy. “I know
this sounds idiotic,” he confessed. “I can’t justify it,
though I feel it may be true. But we might have
been brought here, the three of us, to prevent some-
thing damnable happening. Honestly, Hooker, I
believe there is something damnable behind all this.

OUTSIDE THE GATE 195

and Andrea MacMichael knows it, and that’s why
she’s so queer and unhappy. Now then!”

He rose and looked down defiantly at his com-
panion, who answered him with a rather sardonic
but not unfriendly grin. Then the grin vanished,
as Hooker rose too, and gave Malcolm a slap on the
shoulder.

“You may be right, at that,” said Hooker, quite
serious now. “I’ll admit this much. I don’t like
those two MacMichaels I know— never did like Paul,
though I admired him. Something wrong deep
down. And it’s a pity about the girl. I wish she
wasn’t one of ’em. And unless one of those guns
goes off at a bad moment, I’m going to ask ’em what
the hell they think they’re doing round here; and
I’m going to stick around, old son, until I find out.
So I’m with you, whether it’s chance or destiny or
the ways of God or whatever you want to call it.
And now, that pie seems a long way off, so let’s have
another bite and then get some sleep.”

Although he was far less comfortable, Malcolm
actually slept better than he had done the night
before at the hotel, though when he finally wakened
and found it was morning, he seemed to remember
having had several long confused dreams. He told
Hooker so, when they began to exchange sleepy
remarks across the shack, still lying covered on their
bunks.

“Don’t go in for dreaming much,” said Hooker,
suddenly sitting up, “but I’ve just had a most
peculiar dream. I wasn’t quite out of it, really, when
you first spoke. I was in a great tower, a hell of a
thing, with all kinds of people I knew drifting round
in it, and I had to fetch something from the top

igS THE DOOMSDAY MEN

and then get out of it— quick!— it was that kind of
dream, when you’re under some mysterious com-
pulsion— and finally I did get out— and, boy, was I
in a sweat!— and then— wallop— the whole tower dis-
appeared in a flash— as if it was a candle flame and
somebody had blown it out. I tell you, that was
some dream. I was still staring at the place where
that tower had been when I woke up.”

They were still leisurely exchanging remarks from
their bunks when Larrigan looked in, bringing them
a most welcome pot of coffee.

“What’s the news this morning?” asked Hooker.

“Ain’t heard a thing yet, boys, so take it easy.”

“I'd like some hot water soon, please,” said
Malcolm firmly.

“My friend likes to be all spruced up when he’s
round here,” Hooker explained, with a grin.

“You bet! Long as you don’t make trouble. I’ll
do what I can for yer,” sand Larrigan.

“Just let her run natural, Mr. Larrigan.”

“That’s it. Well, there’s your coffee, boys, to start
the day with. Fine morning— an’ everything runnin’
natural.”

“The fact is,” said Malcolm later, over their
coffee, “I can’t help still liking that old scoundrel.
I can’t believe he’s one of their fanatics.”

“No, Fd say he’s just on the MacMichael pay-roll.
Probably he was here when they came.”

“And they turned him into a new kind of lodge-
keeper. This coffee’s good, but— golly!— I feel filthy.
Hope he brings some water. Did he bring our
shaving kits out of the car?”

“Yep— think so, though I don’t care. Might try a
beard. I’d go big with a beard at the Weinberger

OUTSIDE THE GATE 107

Tech. It’ud look well at conferences too. What
about an architect with a beard? Sounds just right
to me. No? I believe you think that girl’s coming
running out to meet you this morning, and you’re
taking no chances.”

“She may not even know we’re here.”

“May not be there herself, old son. In fact, by
this time, she may be happily married to an oil man
and be living at Long Beach.”

“Oh— rotl Besides, didn’t that fellow at Barstow
say he’d seen her a few days ago, and she was head-
ing this way?”

“But you don’t expect to see her?”

“I don’t know— better not talk about it.”

It must have been about an hour later when
Larrigan returned, this time bringing with him a
pitcher of hot water and a bucket of cold. “You’d
better be right smart with these, boys,” he told them.
“Let’s see, you’re Hooker, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Anybody want me?”

“Shore! Mr. MacMichael just rung through. He
wants you along there. He’s sending a car up for
you, in about half an hour. So better get spruced
up, if you’re that way inclined.”

“What about me?” asked Malcolm, feeling clean
out of it.

“You’ll stay right here. Nothin’ said about you,
except by Maw, who says you’re too good-lookin’
though can’t say I noticed it myself.” And Pa Larri-
gan went ofE chuckling, though that did not prevent
him from turning the key on them again.

They washed, shaved, brushed themselves. Hooker
was eagerly awaiting his visit to the MacMichaels,
was indeed quite excited by the prospect, but was

igS THE DOOMSDAY MEN

good-natured enough to try and console Malcolm,
who was obviously cast-down. Hooker assured him
that he would attempt to have him released as soon
as possible. He would also try to tell the girl, if he
should see her, that Malcolm was there. And, for
the time being, nothing more could be done. But
when Larrigan returned to take Hooker away,
Malcolm, left to himself and heartily sick of this
miserable little hole, was very gloomy. He could
see neither the gate nor the road from the little
window, which told him nothing but that it was a
fine morning and he was not out in it. After he
heard the car go, taking Hooker away, he passed a
few minutes moodily tidying up the place. After
that he sat on the edge of his bunk and tried in
vain to recapture the fine determinations, the sense
of high destiny, of the night before; but now he was
just a gloomy young man, still absurdly in love, who
had allowed himself to be locked in a hut miles
from anywhere, a chump and not even a free chump.

Then the door gave place to a bright oblong of
sunlight, and the next moment, when he looked up,
this sunlight framed somebody standing there. This
was not old Larrigan again. No— his heart shouted.
It was Andrea.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER

A S Jimmy Edlin had guessed at once, Charlie
/\ Atwood was very drunk. They discovered
jL jL him in the living-room of the ranch, roaring
for the Mexicans and Decks to come back. He was
a reckless-looking, battered fellow in his thirties, and
he was not one of your flushed, sloppy, dribbling
drunks, but that more dangerous kind which turns
white-faced, glittering-eyed, and takes on an air of
quiet determined lunacy. Apparently he had been
attempting some elaborate balancing feat, which in-
volved half the furniture and ornaments of the
living-room and a corps of willing assistants. The
result had been disastrous, but the breakages were
not so serious as they had appeared to be from out-
side. A large china bowl and an empty bottle and
a glass or two had been broken, and Charlie had
cut himself; but that was all. For a moment Charlie
stared at them wildly, as if he could not understand
how a Mexican family, an old-timer, two dogs and
cat had contrived to return in this guise.

“Oh— Charlie!” cried little Mrs. Atwood reproach-
fully, “you’re drunk again.”

Being no ordinary drunk, Charlie did not attempt
to deny this. “Rosalie, glad to see you. Welcome
home,” he said, with a sort of desperate seriousness.
“And you’re quite right. I’m bottled, stewed. In
fact, very bottled, very stewed.”

800

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You
know you’ve promised— over and over again.”

“Over and over and over ^ain,” he said gravely,
as if correcting a careless statement. “Given my
solemn word, Rosalie.”

“Yes, I know you have.”

“Not worth a damn.” He shook his head mourn-
fully, then looked in a glassy fashion at Jimmy.
“No, sir, not worth a damn. How are you?”

Rosalie, after pulling a little warning face at
Jimmy, introduced them. “And now you ought to
go to bed.”

He appeared to think this over. “What do you
say?” he asked Jimmy.

“I think I’d call it a day, if I were you,” Jimmy
replied gravely.

“Call it what day?” asked Charlie earnestly.
“What day is it?” They told him, and this too gave
him food for thought. “There’s a day missing,” he
announced finally, and looked sternly at them both,
as if he thought they had been up to some trick with
the calendar. "Clean gone. How long have I been
here?”

“I don’t know, Charlie. You weren’t here when I
went away. I can ask Deeks when you came, if you
like.”

“Deeks? He wouldn’t know. He’s too old. Deeks
—Deeks— old Deeks,” he stammered, “why he’s
older than anybody. God’s truth— he’s a kind of
mummy. If anybody has to be blamed— besides me,
of course— for all this, I’d blame Deeks. Too damned
ancient.” He looked at Jimmy. “Would you like
to see me go clean round this room without ever
touching the floor?”

201

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER

“No, Charlie, please, not again.”

“Rosalie, allow this gentleman— your friend— to
answer. Now would you? 1 go round the walls,
see?”

“I’ll tell you, old man,” replied Jimmy, who had
met these fellows before and knew how to deal with
them. “I’d like to see you do that— it’s a dandy trick
—but to-morrow, to-morrow.”

“Why to-morrow?” asked Charlie suspiciously.

“Because I’m tired— I’ve had a long day— and I’d
enjoy it a lot better to-morrow.”

“Surely, surely.” Charlie nodded approvingly,
then turned to his sister-in-law. “A nice fellow. Very
nice fellow. Treat him right, Rosalie ”

“Now Charlie, don’t be silly,” cried Mrs. Atwood,
somewhat confused. She was now trying to put the
room to rights. “Mr. Edlin’s only a friend— a new
friend— we have— we have some business to do
together.”

Charlie, a man of sentiment, ignored this non-
sense, and now turned to Jimmy. “You know how
to pick ’em. Trust Rosalie. She’s a peach. I don’t
know how to pick ’em. That’s been my trouble.
Isn’t that so, Rosalie?”

“I must say, you haven’t been very lucky, Charlie.”

“Lucky? Did ever a fellow have such an eye for
chromium-plated pieces as I’ve had? They’ve taken
the very laces out of my shoes before now. All the
same— studio extras, hospital nurses— I’ve had plenty
of them because I’ve been busted so often— and
fortune tellers, Gipsy Tea Room bits with ear-rings
as big as your fist— and that manicure girl with a
cork leg — ”

“Now, Charlie, behave yourself,” cried Rosalie

202 the doomsday MEN

anxiously, though she could not help adding: “1
don’t believe she had a cork leg either. You were
drunk that time, I do believe.”

“Not me. She was drunk. Didn’t she stick a fork
in it?”

“That’s what you say.”

“I saw her. Did it just to make me mad. Up to
all kinds of tricks— all of ’em. Things you’d never
dream of. Look at that one who ate nothing but
nuts and oranges, down at Malibu. There was
something to look at. Eyes like lamps, and black
hair that came dovra to her knees — ”

“Stuffy!” cried Rosalie, in a disgusted tone.

“And she’d slip that fancy robe off— you could
never stop her— and there she was, a Venus — ”

“That’ll do, Charlie, we don’t want to hear about
these awful women — ”

“Just what I’m saying. Craty as coots or tough
as hell, once they started to work on you. I just
couldn’t pick ’em.”

“I must be thinking about supper,” Rosalie
murmured.

“Did you bring back anything to drink?” asked
Charlie, with the finely assumed casual air of a man
who had not had a drink for some time and rather
fancied one, “That’s the point.”

“No, I didn’t. And I’ll bet you’ve finished up
everything here, haven’t you?”

“'ITiere isn’t anything left, Rosalie. You’ll have
to watch Decks and that Mexican. I’ve told you
before.”

“Decks! What have you had to eat to-day? Do
you want any supper?”

Charlie shook his head, and gave himself the

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER S0$

appearance of a disdainful ascetic. “Couldn’t face
it. All the same, women, even Rosalie, Mr, Whosit.
Always want to pack food into you— great lumps of
greasy food— soup— stews— hash— ughl”

“Then you can stay and watch us eat,’’ said
Rosalie briskly. Artfully too, because she knew her
man and realised that by this time he would do any-
thing but what was suggested to him. “Then we can
have a nice long talk.”

“That’s another thing,” said Charlie mournfully,
out of his deep despair of the sex. “That nice long
talk business. Always want a nice long talk. About
what? About nothing. They’ve said it all and yet
they want to go on saying it. No, sir, not for Charlie.
I’ll go to bed. Yes,” he added sternly, looking from
one to the other of them, as if defying them to stop
him, “to bed.” And o£E he went, there and then,
and must have fallen asleep immediately for they
saw and heard no more of him that night.

“There isn’t a bit of real harm in poor Charlie,”
Mrs. Atwood explained, an hour or two afterwards,
when she had completely restored order, brought
back the Mexicans, shown Jimmy his room, and was
now setting before him an excellent supper, “He
really can’t help it. I’ve done everything I could
for jhim, but there isn’t much I can do, beyond
keeping him here now and then to build him up a
bit. You see, he went into the War when he was
only a boy, and became a pilot. Then afterwards
there wasn’t anything much for him to do— and he
was very wild— so he came out here to Hollywood
and became a stunt man— you know, he jumped out
of airplanes and drove cars just in front of loco-
motives and rolled over precipices and all that—

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

204

ohl— you wouldn’t believe the things he did for
them— and he’s had his arms and legs broken I don’t
know how many times. And, of course, he always
spent every cent he made, helped by all those awful
women you heard him talk about— and then when
the talkies came along, they didn’t want so many
stunt men— they hardly use any now, Charlie says—
and of course he’s tried other things— he was with a
sort of flying circus one time— but he can’t settle
to anything, and gets terribly discouraged— poor
Charlie!- and so he drinks. He must have excite-
ment, you see. An ordinary life’s no good to him
at all.”

‘‘I can see that,” said Jimmy, who now realised
that he had been foolish to feel even vaguely jealous
of the wild brother-in-law. “But where does this
airplane come in?”

“Oh— that! Well, it’s a terrible old thing really,
and Charlie had it given him years ago by a man he
was working with. And Charlie, who’s clever with
things like that, has kept it— through thick and thin,
you might say— because now and then he makes a
few dollars out of it, doing stunts with it or taking
people u{>— he’s often asked me but I won’t go up
in the awful old thing— I’m sure it’s falling to pieces.
Charlie says he’s fixed it so that it doesn’t take much
gasoline— he couldn’t afiEord to run it if it did
— and he comes out here in it— and wanders round.
Poor Charlie! I hope you didn’t mind him, Mr.
Edlin?”

“Jimmy,” he corrected her.

“All right then— Jimmy? You didn’t mind him
being like that, did you?”

“Not me. I’ve seen plenty of ’em. Matter of

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER 205

fact, I rather took to him. And— I’ve been wonder-
ing, Mrs. Atwood— Rosalie, I mean. Most certainly
I mean Rosalie.”

“Go on.”

“You and I will have to do some talking about
this Brotherhood business, won’t we?”

“Yes, and that reminds me— Jimmy. I want you
to tell me all about it, right from the beginning,
because I’m still muddled.”

“Right! But I was wondering about Charlie. It’ll
be a bit difficult if we leave him out. On the other
hand— well, you know what you said about him
yourself— he’s wild— and I don’t want to say too
much at this stage of the thing.”

“No. I understand.” She thought for several
moments, leaving her food untasted, and cupping
her chin in her hand. In this cosy domestic setting
she seemed to him more delicious and desirable
than ever. He had never seen her before without a
hat, and now he had a clear view of the grey curls
framing the round face, the cheeky little nose, the
friendly soft mouth, the clear bright eyes, and making
it all reasonably contemporary with his own middle-
age and yet delightfully youthful too, and somehow
more genuinely youthful than half the young girls
you saw about these days. He stared at her appre-
ciatively, in the soft lamplight, and felt he ms ready
to go on doing it for a good long time. Now she
looked up, smiled to see him there, then looked
serious.

“I think you ought to tell Charlie. Not just
because it might be awkward— and not very nice,
anyhow— hiding it all from him, but because I think
he might be very useful. About some things— well.

206 the doomsday men

you’ve seen Tiim and heard him— he’s no sense at
all, but about other things he’s really quite smart.
And he’s knocked about all over the place, here
in Southern California, and he might be able to
tell you some things you don’t know. Yes, please,
Jimmy, do tell Charlie.”

“I will,” said Jimmy, and now he began from the
beginning and told her all that had happened to him
since he landed and all that he knew about the
Brotherhood of the Judgment. He had a grand
time doing it, too. She was a perfect audience.
Sometimes she looked startled, sometimes angry, and
sometimes, of course, she laughed, and then he had
to laugh too, though he had not been much amused
by the actual events; so although in the main it was
such a grim and serious business, they did quite a
lot of laughing. After the table had been cleared,
and the varnish in his new pipe was frizzling nicely,
he brought out the package, and together they
stared at it.

“Of course it isn’t ours,” he remarked. “No get-
ting away from that. I’ve stolen it.”

She dismissed these qualms at once. “Didn’t they
try to kidnap you? It isn’t stealing from people like
that, up to any kind of horrible wickedness. And it
isn’t as if you wanted whatever’s in there. You— we,
because I’m in this now as much as you, Jimmy—
we want to see what they’re up to. And I know too
they’re up to something. Didn’t I say to you, that
very night— and I didn’t know you at all, hadn’t I
a nerve, but I had to say something to somebody
and you looked all right— but didn’t I say then they
were all mad? I saw it in their faces. I hate those
sunken eyes, and big noses, and tight mouths. Now

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER 207

let’s open it, shall we?” She laughed then at her
curiosity, and was as flushed and eager as a child.
“Isn’t this exciting?”

Whatever was inside that package, the people res-
ponsible for sending it had been most elaborately
careful to ensure that it would arrive intact. They
had done a most thorough job of packing. It took
Jimmy and Mrs. Atwood about five minutes to un-
fasten and clear away all the various inner wrap-
pings and layers of packing. But at last the table was
bare of everything but the one important object.

“What is it?” asked Mrs. Atwood, with a touch of
disappointment in her voice.

“Looks like some sort of scientific apparatus,” said
Jimmy, still staring, “but God knows what it’s for.”

It was some kind of long and fat glass tube with
metal attachments of various shapes, all bright and
beautifully made, at each end. It made no sense to
Jimmy, who did not pretend to have any scientific
knowledge.

“But what could those people want with a thing
like that?” she demanded, looking at it with some
disgust.

“It’s my belief,” said Jimmy slowly, for he was
still thinking hard, “they were taking it up there
for the other brother, the one that young scientist
mentioned. But they weren’t just acting as delivery
agents, I’m sure of that. I mean to say, the Brother-
hood and Father John and the whole works came
into this business. I know that by the way they
talked about it. They’d had word this thing was
tremendously important, whatever it is.”

Involuntarily he glanced across at the window,
which was open. They had not troubled to draw the

2o8 the doomsday men

curtains. Outside was the vast impenetrable dark-
ness of night in a remote place. Jimmy frowned at
it, then went and drew the curtains.

“Nobody’d come here, you know.” She had
guessed his thought. “It doesn’t lead to anywhere.
We’re very quiet out here. And we’d hear the dogs
if anybody strange was near.”

“Yes, it’s a good place, from one point of view.
And a bad one, from another. If somebody did
come, they could do what they liked right out here.
Is there any chance, do you think, of Kaydick find-
ing I’m out here?”

She thought a moment. “If he went all round
Barstow asking if they’d seen you~he could easily
describe you, especially as you looked rather a sight
—and somebody told him they’d seen us together,
then it might be awkward, because of course there
are people in Barstow who know I live out here.
But even then they’d have to take the chance of wast-
ing a lot of time, coming out as far as this.”

“It doesn’t sound likely, does it?” He was more
cheerful now. “Well, we’d better put this object
carefully away. Perhaps Charlie might know what
it’s for. I’ll try him to-morrow. How long does he
take to recover from one of these blinds of his?”

“He’s usually all right by the middle of the next
day,” she replied.

The next day proved that she had shrewdly
guessed Charlie’s form. He made no appearance at
all during the morning, when Mrs. Atwood inter-
viewed her employees and attended to the ranch
and the house, while Jimmy smoked his pipe and
explored a bit and pottered about happily in the
sunshine. It was early afternoon when Charlie

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER 209

appeared, looking more battered than ever, but
fairly spruce, and quite sober.

“Jimmy,” he began, holding out his hand.
“Jimmy’s the name, isn’t it? Well, Jimmy, I’m
glad to know you. Rosalie’s been telling me a few
things. You look all right, a good guy. I’m a louse.”

“No, Charlie, that’s all right. How do you feel
now?”

“Like a louse with a big head. Got out here and
Rosalie’d gone— say, isn’t she swell?— so started feel-
ing sorry for myself, got the willies, and drained the
ranch. Sorry, don’t seem to have left you a drop.”

“I can do without it— for once.”

“Finel I lay off for about three years one time—
when I was making good money too as a stunt man
—but what the helll I went and busted myself so
many times in so many different places, I just had
to relax. Half the pictures you saw, one time, when
the leading man had to drop from a plane into the
cab of a locomotive because the bridge was down
in front and the villain had switched the signals,
that was me, but when it was all over and the beauti-
ful blonde was twining her arms round his neck and
he was saying, ‘Let’s begin a new life together,
Mary’, that was the leading man back on the job
again and I was back in hospital and plaster of Paris.
And now they don’t even want mugs like me, to risk
our necks for fifty dollars a time, because all the
leading man does now is to sing to her, unless she’s
too busy singing to him. Let’s walk round.”

As they walked round, Charlie, whose powers of
speech had certainly not been impaired, gave a
picturesque sketch of his career, with some inci-
dents, professional or amorous, narrated in full; and

gio THE DOOMSDAY MEN

J imm y, amused, was quite content to listen. To-
wards the end he found himself less and less amused,
however, not because Charlie was a bore, for he was
not, but because Jimmy could not help feeling sorry
for this younger man who was no longer young
enough, who had risked his life so often, anony-
mously and for a poor reward, for the idle enter-
tainment of the crowd, and who now, beneath the
superficial appearance of ease and cynicism, was
broken, bitter, despairing. He had struggled back
to life so many times— and for what? This he more
or less admitted himself. Rosalie had said to him
several times, “Really, Charlie, I don’t know what’s
to become of you?”

“And she asked something when she asked that,”
Charlie now confessed. “Though she didn’t mean
it badly, take it from me. I tried to get out to China
—like you, only I was going out as a pilot— but I
couldn’t make it. The things I haven’t made! I
ought to have conked out long since— saved a lot of
trouble. They put you together again, only to throw
you out. I’m about through. You can’t see me— after
the life I’ve had— filling your gasoline tank and
wiping your windshield and hoping you’ll come
again very soon— even if they’d have me, which they
wouldn’t, not with a lot of nice polite college boys
to choose from. Or wiping the counter in an all-
night joint and serving hash to truck-drivers. Or
calling with my hat in my hand asking some frozen-
faced wife of a drug-store assistant if she’d like to
see me demonstrate the new dish-washing machine.
I couldn’t even hold a gun steady enough to make
good as a stick-up man. I don’t know why I’m telling
you all this, Jimmy, unless it’s the hang-over and

211

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER

because I let Rosalie down last night. Didn’t know
she was bringing a friend, of course, though I guess
it would have been all the same if I had have known.
All I really know, most of the time now, is that I’m
all washed up. I wouldn’t be sorry to pull one good
stunt— a really good one, some use to somebody too—
and then call it curtains.”

As he heard this, Jimmy, not usually aware o£
such things but somehow feeling more sensitive
than usual this afternoon, had a strange premoni-
tion, as if there came suddenly from the blue a
whisper of sudden disaster, sudden glory; and he
looked earnestly at Charlie almost as if to discover
some confirmation of this written on him, there in
the sunlight. And for long afterwards he was to
describe this moment of queer revelation, which
came as if a trumpet had suddenly sounded through
the quiet little valley.

“What’s the matter?” asked Charlie. “Am I talk-
ing too much? Are you wondering whether I always
talk too much? You needn’t. I can keep my mouth
shut, I’ve had to sometimes. Rosalie said you’d
something to tell me. I’d like to hear it, Jimmy.”

Jimmy was in no mood now to hide anything
from his companion, and once again, as they walked
slowly back to the ranch-house, he told the story of
his adventures with the Brotherhood and revealed
the maze of vague speculations in which he was now
wandering. What were they after, what were they
up to?

Charlie didn’t know, of course; indeed, he had
never heard of the Brotherhood. He had heard of
the MacMichael family. And there was something
he definitely knew, and was jubilant about it.

818

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

“Yes, Jimmy, you’re talking to tlie right man. I’ve
seen that place of the MacMichaels.”

Jimmy stared. “You have?”

“I have. It’s— wait a minute—” then he pointed a
towards the north-east— “over there, perhaps sixty,
eighty, might even be a hundred miles, in more or
less a straight line. I don’t know how far by road,
because I didn’t go by road. You see I flew over it,
one time. Yes, that’s how I came to see it. I was
cruising over it, and came right down to have a
good look, took Bendy— that’s my old plane there.
Bendy— as far down as I dare go to have a look.”

“Where is it?”

“I’ll show you on the map. Lost Lake, of course,
but then you said that. But I’m not kidding you,
Jimmy. I saw it all right. Quite a place. I’ll tell
you, all set out towards the top of a little canyon.
Trees and some small houses, then a big house—
Spanish style, it seemed from the air— and then a
tower, a white tower. It’s the queerest set-up to be in
a place like that, farther away from anywhere than
even this is. They must have spent a fortune on it.
I wondered what the idea was, at the time. Here,
Jimmy, listen—” and he stopped, and halted the
other promptly by seizing him by the arm— “now
listen, we’ll go and have a look at it together. I’ll
fly you over. My tank’s nothing like empty, and
Rosalie’s got plenty of gas she can spare. Take you
any time you like.”

This was tempting. “Is this plane of yours— what
do you call it?— Bendy?— all right?”

“All right? Of course she isn’t all right. She’s all
wrong. There isn’t a disease that planes suffer from
that Bendy hasn’t had for years — she’s a worse crock

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER 2 13

than I am— she’s thousands of years old— she’s shaking
herself to bits, and one of these days the whole
damned engine’ll drop out of her, unless the wings
go first— but she can fly— I’d take her anywhere, and
take anybody in her. Hell!— let’s go.”

But Jimmy had no intention of going there and
then, and even Charlie admitted that the middle of
the afternoon— or even late in the afternoon, for
they could hardly set out that very moment— was not
the best time to start a journey over the mountains.
However, Jimmy half-promised to make the trip the
next day, if conditions were favourable; and this de-
lighted Charlie, who said he was longing for some-
thing to do. On their way back to the ranch-house
Charlie decided that the MacMichaels had built
their tower over a huge secret gold-mine, which the
brethren of the Judgment for some reason he did
not trouble to specify were busily and grimly en-
gaged in protecting against discovery. He had not
yet seen the strange piece of apparatus, and now
Jimmy showed it to him. Charlie spent a long time
examining it from every possible angle, and finally
declared that it must be some kind of instrument
used in testing the gold they were bringing up,
which he obviously imagined to be in the form of
great shining nuggets. In short, Charlie knew
nothing whatever about the large glass tube, and
under a severe double cross-examination from both
Jimmy and his sister-in-law had in the end to admit
as much. But he stuck to his secret gold-mine theory,
and half-succeeded in convincing Rosalie, who was
more than ready to welcome any glittering marvels
of this kind.

It was when, after much talk, they had settled

814 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

down to play rummy, between supper and bedtime,
that Charlie again mentioned the idea of flying
Jimmy over Lost Lake. Rosalie was at once alarmed.

“Don’t go, Jimmy,” she cried. “I told you what
that awful old plane of his is like. It’s terrible, all
falling to bits. Don’t go.”

“Poor old Bendy’s all right.”

“Poor old Bendy!” cried Mrs. Atwood scornfully.

“Well, she brings me here quite safely, doesn’t she,
and takes me back again? And that’s a whole lot
farther than just flipping over to Lost Lake. Don’t
take any notice of her, Jimmy. This is your great
chance to have a peep at ’em. Don’t miss it.”

Jimmy looked apologetically across at his hostess.
"I think I ought to take the chance, y’know, Rosalie.
It might give me some idea of what they’re up to
there, and we agreed we ought to know.”

“I knew you’d say that,” she told him, without a
smile; then to Charlie: “OhI— you are annoying,
Charlie. Sometimes I could— I could slap you— yes,
slap you hard, you and your ridiculous Bendy!” She
left the table, throwing her cards down, marched
away, then turned accusingly on both of them: “I
suppose it doesn’t matter you both going away and
leaving me here alone, does it? What am I going
to do if those awful men come? You’ve never
thought about that, have you?”

“They won’t come here,” said Charlie, dismissing
them airily. “Why should they?”

“They might. And Jimmy knows they might.”

Jimmy was silent. She had a nice little temper of
her own too, this nice little woman, but then, why
shouldn’t she have? Also, he couldn’t help feeling
flattered by her concern. He didn’t believe she really

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER 2 15

minded being left there alone. She was only trying
to make them put off the trip.

“If they find out that thing’s here and that
Jimmy’s here,” she continued, reversing their reasons
in her haste and annoyance, “they’d be up here in
no time. And then what am I to do?”

“The fact is,” said Charlie, with some penetra-
tion but a complete want of tact, “you’re only find-
ing excuses, so we won’t go. And not to prevent me
going either, because I’ve been coming and going in
poor old Bendy for years and you haven’t objected.
Jimmy, she thinks I’m going to smash you up among
those mountains, and she’s all against it.”

“Anybody would be against it,” she retorted,
very pink now, “and I’ve never said anything about
you flying because you’re used to it and you’re crazy
anyhow— and if you’re going on making idiotic
remarks— I’m going to bed.”

“It’s far too early,” said Charlie.

“Not after the way you upset me last night — ”

"Why, you said this morning, when I begged
pardon — ”

“It doesn’t matter what I said this morning,” the
unscrupulous female retorted sharply, and then,
suddenly catching Jimmy’s eye, she had to laugh.
“But I’m cross with you both,” she announced, as
she sat down again.

And somehow the life had gone out of the game.
Jimmy caught himself several times wishing Charlie
were not there, and once or twice he fancied that
Mrs. Atwood, who was now very severe upon Charlie
if he tried to evade the more stringent rules of the
game, felt the same thing too. They went to bed
early.

2i6

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

The next morning was fine again, and good for
flying, Charlie declared at once, on making a rather
late appearance. Now Rosalie did not press her
objections again. She quietly accepted the fact that
they were going, and as they would not be back until
some time in the afternoon, she gave them some
sandwiches to eat in the air. She seemed to Jimmy
oddly subdued, almost sad, and while Charlie was
putting some more gasoline into his Bendy, Jimmy
took her to one side and asked what was the matter.

“I don’t know,” she answered, looking troubled.
‘‘I didn’t want to say anything. You’d think me
silly, going on again, after last night. But this is
different. And I wouldn’t have said anything if you
hadn’t asked me. But I feel— oh!— I dunno— queer
and rather sad inside. Not like me either, but I must
be honest and tell you what I feel. But I’ll be all
right, don’t worry. And just see that Charlie doesn’t
do anything silly.”

He looked at her solemnly, then took her hand
and held it a moment, and astonished her by saying:
“I wonder if you’re fond of pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“Yes, pictures— paintings— my paintings I’m really
thinking about.”

“Why, do you paint pictures, Jimmy?”

He nodded solemnly. “My great hobby, painting
pictures. And I’ll tell you something. Nobody
thinks I’m any good at it— but me.”

“Oh— what a shame!” She sounded honestly
indignant. A good start, but she hadn’t seen any of
the pictures yet.

“I’d like you to see one or two.”

“Fd like to, Jimmy.”

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER S If

“Yes, but this is specially important.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t tell you now, Rosalie.” But he pressed her
hand and looked for a moment as if he was about to
kiss her, and Rosalie was deciding like lightning
that he could if he wanted to. But he didn’t, only
gave her another solemn searching look, over which
she speculated for many an hour before they talked
again.

“Now look after yourselves, you two,” cried
Rosalie, as she drew back from the plane, and
Jimmy climbed into the open cockpit beside
Charlie.

“Careful where you put your foot, Jimmy,” said
Charlie. And Jimmy saw that he would have to be
very careful indeed. There was a horribly impro-
vised, boys’ magazine, canvas and lath look about
this airplane. It had looked a very dubious vehicle
even from the outside, but on a closer view, from
the inside, it set Jimmy quaking.

“And what in the name of Pete,” he asked him-
self anxiously, “have I let myself in for this time?”
He had only once been in a small plane before, and
even that had looked a miracle of safety compared
with this dilapidated little old monster. It was diffi-
cult to feel any confidence in Bendy. And then there
was Charlie. He might be a most experienced and"
brilliant pilot, but the fact r^'mained that he was also
a reckless devil who confessed that he was getting
tired of this life. Curtains indeed!

“Charlie,” he roared, for now the engine was
being warmed up and the propeller whirring, “just
remember that if you’re tired of life, I’m not. Take-
it easy, boy.”

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

;%l8

“You leave it to me,” replied Charlie, now in
high delight. “Look out. I’m letting her go.”

A last wave to Rosalie, standing there, an anxious
little figure, and they were off into the blue. The
ranch went huddling down into a few tiny roofs;
the whole valley contracted into a narrow greenish
slit; and now they were over the mountains, and
bumping about horribly, so that Jimmy felt terrified.
Charlie yelled that it was always bumpy over these
mountains, and Jimmy wished he had thought of
that before he agreed to come along. Every time
Bendy dropped, she seemed to creak and groan and
flap and shiver as if her last moment had arrived,
and it was small consolation to Jimmy that Charlie
did not appear to mind at all but continued in the
highest spirits. Give him the air, he cried; and
Jimmy felt ready to make him a present of the entire
element.

They were still climbing, though not steadily, for
Bendy still kept bumping and suddenly dropping.
“Ride her, cowboy ” roared Charlie, handling the
controls, which had a home-made look about them,
with a dash and abandon that failed to bring con-
fidence to his passenger. Now they might have been
flying over the dead face of the moon. They were
above desolate mountains, and ringed round with
desert. Jimmy could see innumerable wrinkles and
folds below, as if some old brownish fur rug had
been hastily kicked into position down there, and
not a sign of man. Any green places there might
have been there were lost to view. No water gleamed.
Where the rocks ended, the sand began. Nothing
stirred, except an occasional vulture or buzzard. Far
off, on their left hand, to the north, were higher

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER gig

mountains, shining remote peaks. But it was the
grim desolation below that caught and held Jimmy’s
imagination, for it was as if a world had died there.
Beneath the first fear, the fear of an immediate
disaster, a sudden drop that Bendy would not shiver-
ingly come out of, a crash on one of those pinnacles
of rock, he discovered now a deeper and darker
terror, born of this ancient desolation, this dead face
of a landscape, and not to be put into words and
reasoned with, a terror that came in full sunlight
and yet seemed to belong to midnight and bad
dreams.

No nonsense of this kind about Charlie, who
seemed to prefer rocketing about in mid-air to a
sensible existence on the ground. He was in great
form. He began to play with Bendy as if she were
a kind of monstrous flying kitten; they had the
jolliest romps together up there above the rocky
spears and bludgeons of those mountain tops; and
as he cavorted with her he shouted and sang. Jimmy
hoped the madman was really making for their
destination, but doubted it. He had an unpleasant
notion that they were just playing about in blue
space. He had just opened his mouth to say so, at
the top of his voice, when Bendy’s nose went down
and the whole earth suddenly tilted. So Jimmy
decided to reserve his energies in order to cope with
these startling phenomena. That tilting earth, now,
those mountain peaks all askew. Charlie seemed to
want to have a closer look at them; but Jimmy closed
his eyes.

“No,” roared Charlie, “that’s not right. Try
again.”

This time they went very high, and Charlie

220 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

Stopped playing the fool— if he had been playing the
fool, for Jimmy was never quite sure— and now
looked about him soberly, carefully. Finally, he
gave an exclamation, pointed Bendy’s nose down
again, and descended in a vast skimming curve.
Jimmy noticed they were losing speed, and begin-
ning to spiral down.

“That’s it,’’ shouted Charlie. “I’ll take her nearer
—but— not easy— get very near.”

Sheer curiosity now conquered all Jimmy’s mixed
fears. He looked and saw a steep and narrow
valley, almost like a gorge, and nearly at the head
of it was a cluster of roofs among trees. Bendy went
nearer, and now he saw the white tower, which was
just behind the main house. A road ran the length
of the valley, and another went back, through a little
pass, almost as sharp as a cutting, in the mountain
wall behind. Now Charlie was circling round
steadily; but though Jimmy stared hard all the time,
he did not learn very much more. The buildings
had white walls and red roofs, of curly Spanish tiles;
all, that is, except the tower itself, which appeared
to have an open platform instead of a roof. A line
of pylons approached the buildings from the rear,
running not far from the road that went out at
the back. Apart from the main house and the tower,
there must have been ten or twelve smaller struc-
tures. It was a most impressive-looking establish-
ment, and there was obviously room in it for all three
MacMichaels and a small crowd of friends or em-
ployees. Clearly, they might be up to anything in a
place like this, but there was nothing to throw any
light on what they actually were doing.

Charlie shouted something about trying to get

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER 221

nearer, and suddenly roared down, bringing out
several people from the main house and one man
out on to the tower platform; but Jimmy could not
discover anything more of any importance. He
appeared to have seen all there was to be seen from
the air. He yelled this in Charlie’s ear, and Charlie
nodded, and sent Bendy careering up again, leaving
the valley behind. Jimmy could not help feeling a
trifle disappointed. He could not imagine what he
had hoped to see; but what he had seen had really
told him nothing. They were no wiser than when
they had left this morning. He did not even under-
stand how the place was reached by road. In fact,
he understood exactly nothing.

The return journey, however, was much
pleasanter. Jimmy was now fairly familiar with most
of Bendy’s playful antics, and could believe that each
repetition of them did not mean the beginning of
the end. They ate their sandwiches too, which made
him feel more at home in this rickety machine. The
desolation below was no longer so startling and
terrifying; it began to take on the appearance of
a vast relief map; and Jimmy tried to take an in-
telligent interest in its topography. Reluctant to
leave the air, Charlie took a wide sweep round, and
Jimmy was able to observe the Mohave Desert
curving away like a yellowish sea. At last a faint
thread below, dropped among the black or glisten-
ing rocks, was declared by Charlie to be the very
road along which Rosalie had brought Jimmy from
Barstow. They could follow it, Charlie said, straight
back to the ranch; and Jimmy was all for doing this.
So Charlie brought them down several hundred feet,
remarking casually at the same time that it was a

222 the doomsday MEN

risky thing to do, and they went swooping and roar-
ing above the road.

Farther along there was a moving blur of dust.
J imm y looked at it anxiously. “Isn’t that a car
going to the ranch?’’ he shouted.

“Must be,’’ said Charlie, and swooped down to
get a better look. As they came nearer, the car
arrived at a point where another track, going to lose
itself in the hills, left the road to the ranch, and now
it stopped, and two men climbed out presumably
to decide the way and after a moment they were
joined by two others. Jimmy could plainly see the
four of them pointing and gesticulating, and then
he saw them look up.

“Can we get closer?” he yelled to Charlie.

Charlie swung the indignant Bendy, who tilted
and creaked zmd strained horribly at being wrenched
from her former course, round in a circle, and then,
returning towards the men, sent her roaring down,
sharply, sickeningly. But Charlie seemed to know
exactly how to handle his machine, for he brought
her down in such a way that although they were
bumping along at a great speed and it was not easy
to look down over the side, Jimmy was able to catch
a reasonably good glimpse of those men. One, taller
than the others, wore no hat. Yes, it was Brother
Kaydick again.

“All okay?” asked Charlie.

“No,” shouted Jimmy. “Get back to the ranch.”

Charlie shot them up and swung them out again,
and as they turned Jimmy saw that the car was
moving again, and had taken the right turning,
straight to the ranch.

“Four of ’em,” he shouted to Charlie.

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER 883

“They’re travelling too,” said Charlie. “Doesn’t
look it from here, but they’re going hell for leather.”

Bendy might be old and battered but she was still
more than a match for any car, though Charlie could
not let her full out and had to be careful because,
he explained, there were some particularly nasty air
pockets above the little patch of mountainous rock
between them and the ranch. As it was, they
bumped horribly, but now Jimmy did not care, so
long as they got back to the ranch in time. Once
it looked as if they would never return at all, for
Bendy behaved very badly and Charlie cursed and
sweated at the controls. And the landing was not
easy, for there was not much room to spare and
Charlie shouted that the wind, which curled sharply,
almost spun itself, in that narrow little valley, was
unusually bad. But at last they did land.

Charlie had been so occupied handling the
machine that Jimmy had felt it impossible to discuss
anything with him. Now he had to talk fast.

“There’s only one thing to do, Charlie,” he cried
urgently. “Get Rosalie out of it.”

“This won’t take three, y’know — ”

“I know. But I’ll stay — ”

“Hell, I don’t like that, Jimmy,” Charlie began
protesting. “Let’s fight it out with ’em.”

“We can’t— only two of us— and with Rosalie here
—and four of them, ready to use guns. Honestly,
it’s the only thing, Charlie. Now keep her running,
and be ready to take off. I’ll fetch Rosalie.”

As he turned and ran forward, he saw her come
out of the ranch-house and wave. He ran as hard as
he could go, but once he had left the flattened
ground where Charlie landed and took off, it was

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

224

soft going and he was a heavy man, so that it took
time to cover the two or three hundred yards and
when he arrived near the house, yelling as he came,
he was hot, breathless and nearly exhausted.

“What’s the matter?” she was saying.

“Kaydick— and three other men— coming along in
a car. Be here any minute. Only thing to do— you
go off in the plane with Charlie.”

“Why, Jimmy, certainly not.”

“I tell you, Rosalie, it’s the only thing we can
do. You’ll have to believe me. And we haven’t a
second to lose.”

“But are you sure? I mean, that it’s those men?”

“I distinctly saw them. Come on.” And he
grabbed her by the arm and began hurrying her
away from the house. At first she was taken by
surprise, but after a moment she tried to free her-
self.

“I don’t want to go. You’re the one who ought to
go. It’s you they’re after.”

“They’ll think now we’re all in it together,” he
replied, still pulling her along. “Lookl There they
are.”

His own startled tone and the actual sight of the
car racing up the road combined together to make
her afraid now. She offered no more resistance, but
hurried along, with his hand at her elbow Charlie
must have seen or heard the car too, for now he had
his engine running again and had turned the plane
round. He was leaning forward to help Rosalie in.
Now she was hesitating again.

“It’s all right,” said Jimmy gasping, “quite safe.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” she flashed at him
reproachfully. “I was thinking of you.”

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER 225

“I’m all right,” said Jimmy, who felt anything
but all right. He could hardly get his breath, and
there were fifty knives in his side— to say nothing
of Kaydick and the others bearing down on them.
But he made a great effort and fairly lifted Rosalie
into the plane.

“Jimmy,” Charlie shouted, “you’re a great guy.
I’ll take her to the coast. Here,” and he flung out
a folded scrap of paper, “that’s my phone number,
if you want me and Bendy in a hurry. Or shall I
tell the police?”

“Not yet, Charlie, give me a day or two. Good-
bye, Rosalie,” and he staggered back out of the way.
She was saying something, but he could not catch
a word. There was just time, however, to notice that
she seemed to be crying a bit.

As Bendy shot forward, Jimmy saw that the big
car had stopped, and now the men came hurrying
towards them. But they were too late. Bendy was
off, tilting badly, protesting against it all, but nobly
taking to the air again. Jimmy just gave himself
time to make sure she was up, and then, with the
knives at work inside him and his heart nearly burst-
ing out of his body, he made for the ranch-house
again, as fast as he could go. And as he went, he
cursed himself for a thrice-damned fool. While he
was persuading Rosalie to go, he could have easily
rushed inside, taken out that piece of apparatus that
Kaydick thought was so important, and put it in the
plane. Now it was hopeless, but with some vague
idea of reaching the house before they did, he
staggered on, almost blindly, with the sweat stream-
ing down his broad puckered face.

He arrived at the doorway only to find himself

226 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

confronted by the bleached young man he had
knocked out in the hut at Baker. And once more
that young man was pointing a gun at him, and this
time he looked as if he were only too anxious to use
it. There he had to stay, sobbing for breath, until
the others came up. No sign of Deeks or the
Mexicans, but Jimmy felt they would be useless in
such a crisis.

“You stole a package, friend,” said Brother Kay-
dick sternly. “What have you done with it? No,
before you begin to lie or evade the question, I will
tell you this. We axe not ordinary men going about
our ordinary business. We do not work for gain.
We have been set apart from other men because we
have been given a little insight into the mysterious
ways of our Lord. We are his faithful servants. In
a little while all things known to you will come to
an end. Therefore it is nothing to us if we should
have to make an end of you now, or if, to make you
speak, we should be compelled to give you a fore-
taste of what you will soon suffer in Hell. Nor would
it seem hateful to us to destroy everything here, leav-
ing not a stone standing, because it would only be
going the way of all worldly things. Friend, you have
heard me combat your lies with lies of my own in-
vention. But now you hear the solemn truth. Where
is the thing you stole from us?”

Jimmy had not led an easy and sheltered life; in
many rough places he had been compelled to listen
to many rough speeches; but he could not recall one
that had impressed him as this of Kaydick’s did now.
The man might be living in some mad world of his
own, lit by the gleams of hell-fire; but he was terribly
in earnest and was not making idle threats. Jimmy

TWICE JIMMY SEES THE WHITE TOWER 287

knew that so far as that piece of apparatus was con-
cerned, the game was up. These cool madmen were
desperate. He was glad Rosalie was out of it.

“I opened it,” he told Kaydick, “and all that there
was inside is in there.”

They took him into the living-room with them
and he showed them the lairge fat tube with the
curious metal fittings.

“Is that all there was?” demanded Kaydick sternly.

“Yes. Nothing else at all.”

“Where are its wrappings?”

Jimmy was not sure but thought they might have
been dumped into the shed at the back. Fortunately,
one of the men found them there, all but some of
the straw and stuff; and this seemed to convince Kay-
dick that Jimmy was telling the truth. They made
another secure package of the apparatus, while one.
of them began to make a second secure package out
of poor Jimmy, who had both his hands and feet
tied. They sat him at the back of the car, between
two of them; and then after Kaydick, who took
charge of the apparatus, had made Jimmy swear
again that they had all that was in the pack^e he
had taken, they drove off, without carrying out their
threat to destroy the ranch-house, much to Jimmy’s
relief.

They drove quickly over the rutted and rocky
tracks, and Jimmy, so trussed up that he could not
adjust himself to all the bumping, had a horrible
time of it. Nor was it long before the thin rope
began to cut into his wrists and ankles. Where they
were going, he did not know, and it was difficult to
see out from where he was at the back; but he had
an idea, not very carefully considered because his

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

228

misery was too absorbing, that they went back along
the road to Barstow and then turned oiE, up a steep
side-track, to avoid the town and the main roads.
The pain was becoming unendurable, and Jimmy
implored them to untie him. For a weary long time
they ignored his outcry, but then, just as he was
about to faint, Kaydick gave the order that he should
be loosed. In the vast relief of this freedom, and
in spite of his chafed and aching wrists and ankles,
Jimmy, leaning back and vaguely seeing the sunset
glow all round them, began to nod and droop, and
finally in his utter weariness fell fast asleep.

It was dark when they shook and roused him,
though there were lights coming from somewhere.
He crawled out shakily into the delicious cool air
of early night, saw deep indigo hills against the stars,
and high in front many lighted windows; and he
knew without being told that they had brought him
to the very place at which he had stared from the
plane about six hours before; for this could only
be the secret headquarters of the Brotherhood, the
home of the MacMichaels. Yes, dimly rising there,
ghostly beneath the stars, was the white tower.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET

Y es, it was Andrea. Malcolm rose and went
slowly towards her. She was wearing a black
sombrero, a coloured shirt, trousers and
boots, as if for riding. She stepped back, staring,
and he came slowly out, and they looked at one
another, standing there in the sunlight. Her face
was heavily shadowed under the broad brim, but he
fancied it went suddenly white, and she certainly
put up a hand, as if to stop her heart pounding. And
it seemed quite a long time before they spoke.

“I didn’t know until this morning," she said,
speaking with some difficulty, “and even then I
couldn’t believe it was you.” She waited a moment.
“Ohl— why did you come here?”

“I came to see you again.”

“Yes— but why, why?”

“You see,” he explained carefully, “I managed to
get that job— of seeing our client out in Hollywood
—I think I told you about that— and then I felt I
had to find out where you were and to try and see
you again. As a matter of fact, that’s why I came,
to America at all. To see you again, and if possible
to talk to you and to try and find out what’s the
matter.”

“Why should there be anything the matter?”

He seemed to know a lot of reasons now, but
this was not the moment to bring them out. He

229

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

230

hesitated a moment, and lost the chance of replying.

“I didn’t ask you to come here.” And she gave
him a sombre reproachful look, out of eyes that now
he saw he had not remembered properly at all.

“No,” he replied, trying to keep a careful level
tone, “you didn’t. In fact, you discouraged me from
ever finding out anything more about you. In spite
of that telegram.”

“I shouldn’t have sent that,” she said quickly.
“That was silly. I was sorry afterwards.”

He waited a moment, still looking at her. “Prob-
ably you’re not interested now, but I might as well
tell you that since that telegram, or since that night
at Beaulieu, I don’t think I’ve spent three waking
hours together without remembering you, thinking
about you.”

She swung away, and stared— or appeared to stare
-down into the empty valley.

“That’s why I came,” he went on, not pleading,
not giving his tone any more warmth. “I’ve prob-
ably made a fool of myself, but that can’t be helped.”

She did not reply to this, did not even turn to
look at him for a moment or two, then said frown-
ingly: “I still don’t understand. I— tore up— in such
a hurry. You were with some^ other man, weren't
you, that my uncle wanted to see?”

He explained, briefly, about Hooker, and pointed
out, to bring her back to where they really left off,
that Hooker had nothing to do with them. “We
happened to meet at Barstow, that’s all,” he con-
cluded.

“You needn’t have gone on thinking about me,”
she said, with a very feminine lightning dive into
the very heart of the real topic. “Need you?”

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET 251

“No, and I tried not to. After all,” he added, so
grandly that he suddenly realised he was simply
being pompous, “I don’t particularly want to spend
all my time thinking about mysterious young
women from California.”

“Oh— young women?”

“Well,” stiffly, “one young woman then.”

She regarded him calmly. “You’re very silly, and
very British, and somehow rather sweet, when you’re
like that,” she announced, to his astonishment. “I
remember you like that— before.”

“You haven’t been thinking about me too— by any
chance— have you?”

She nodded. “Once or twice.” She had a dimple
in her cheek. Why had he never remembered that?
Had he never seen her smile before? Was she going
to be quite difiEerent, here among her deserts and
mountains?

But no sooner had he asked himself these ques-
tions than her face clouded again; all the fun died
out of it; and she was the strange sombre girl he
remembered so well.

“I ought,” she said very slowly, “to tell you to
go now— this very minute — She stopped.

“I ought to point out,” he put in lightly, “that
last night I was very definitely prevented from going
—by Pa and Ma Larrigan, who, I take it, besides
being a couple of artful old rufflans, are also under
the orders of your father and uncle— or uncles.”

“You seem to know a lot about us.”

“No, not much. But I’ve done my best.”

She returned to her previous theme and tone.
“You ought to go. I ought to send you away— now.
It’s so useless.”

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

232

She was back talking the sad stufiE he liad heard
from her that night at Beaulieu. Everything useless
indeed! And here she was, and here he was, and
the sun smiling down on them.

It was as if she caught his unspoken thought “It’s
a lovely day,” she remarked, rather wistfully, as if
there might not be many more of them.

“It’s a glorious day,” he told her enthusiastically.
“And I’ll tell you another thing. I wouldn’t be any-
where else in it but here for the world. I’m sorry
to say so, but you still seem to me as puzzling and
wrong-headed and mysterious and miserable and
idiotic as when you left me in front of the Bristol
Hotel that night, but you’re here— at last you’re here
—I’m not just thinking and wondering about you—
you’re really here, a solid girl — ”

“Solid is right,” she murmured. “And if I didn’t
take plenty of exercise, I’d soon be an awful lump.”

He looked at her appreciatively. “You’re just
right,” he exclaimed, “that is, so far as your appear-
ance is concerned— these new things, new to me, I
mean this Western outfit of yours, suit you too— but
as far as behaviour is concerned, with one or two
staggering exceptions, you’re all wrong.”

He smiled at her, but she did not return his smile.
She was very serious again now, but rather hesitant,
indecisive, as if she couldn’t make up her mind what
to do or to say next, but knew that something im-
portant must be done or said quite quickly.

“If you knew that everything was coming to an
end for— for you,” she corrected herself hastily, then
hesitated a moment, “what would you do?”

Was she serious? Yes, she appeared to be, and was
looking at him quite solemnly.

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECaUET 233.

“Would you do— something— you wanted ta
do?”

“It would be easy for me,” said Malcolm, smiling
at her. “I’d go wandering round here with you, all
day, and try to shake that moodiness out of you.
By jingo!- I’d do it too.”

And now the surprising girl was suddenly alight,
all decision, energy, fire, a magnificent creature.
“Can you ride a horse?” she asked quickly.

“Yes, after a fashion.”

“Wait, while I telephone,” and away she flew
down to the Larrigans’ house, leaving him staring.
What a girl! What a frightening, bewildering,
quick-changing, entrancing girl! And if she drove
him away, he would never look at another.

He fell into a reverie, and was only startled out
of it by the sudden appearance of Ma Larrigan, who.
looked searchingly at him as he had remembered
her doing once or twice the previous evening.

“I wondered last night if it might be the same,”
she began at once, “and said so to Paw. ‘Now why
should it be?’ he said. ‘Well, why shouldn’t it?’ I
said. ‘Because it’s not likely,’ he said. ‘Just let
everything run natural. Maw, and stop fancyin’
things,’ he said. But now I said ‘Well, Paw, look at
the way she's tearin’ rormd now— an’ don’t tell me
it’s not the same feller she told me of— she met in
France or England or one of them countries last
winter— because I know better. Use your eyes. Paw,’

I said. ‘I used mine last night,’ I said. An’ that left
him no answer— him an’ his running naturall”

“Wait a minute, Mrs. Larrigan,” said Malcolm.
“Do you mean she— Miss MacMichael— said some-
thing to you about me? That is, before to-day.”

0

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

234

“D’you think she’s nothing better to do than talk
about a feller like you?” demanded Maw, grimly, as
if disgusted by his impudence.

“Well, from what you said — ”

“What I said’s nothing to do with your conceit
an’ impudence,” cried the unscrupulous Maw.
“Gracious sakes! A straight nose an’ a bit of wave
in your hair, an’ you think girls has nothing better
to do than be gassing an’ gabbing about you. An’
specially one like that— not one of your little blonde
fly-by-nights— why— she wouldn’t look twice at
you.”

“All right, Mrs. Larrigan,” said Malcolm, “you’ve
won. She’s a grand girl, though, isn’t she? I sup-
pose you know her very well.”

But this didn’t work. “Yes, young man,” she
snapped, “very well.” And away she stumped.

It was several minutes before Andrea returned,
looking defiant now, not defying him but defying
the whole scheme of things in order to protect the
little happiness she had decided to enjoy; and it gave
her a deeply feminine, almost maternal air, as if
Malcolm and the bright day and that happiness were
her helpless cubs and she herself a dark bristling
lioness. She was almost curt with him, giving him
orders; but he did not object because he understood
vaguely that this very manner admitted him into a
closer intimacy than he had known before. He felt
he was nearer to her than when she had so suddenly
and dramatically kissed him at Beaulieu, for that
had only been a recognition of what-might-have-
been, a kind of despairing hail-and-farewell in the
dark, whereas this was conspiring comradeship
under the sun. Her car was waiting outside the

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET 835

Larrigans’; the gate was open; and she took him
over the hill and then slowly part of the way down
the steep road into Lost Lake, so that he could see
a white tower, some tiled roofs, and the yellow-
greens of cottonwoods and Joshua trees. Then she
turned sharply to the left, crossing by a very rough
track at the back of the buildings and continuing
until they were at the other side of the head of the
valley, where there was no pass or fence or gateway,
only this rough track circling round the hill-side and
now joining another that came sharply up from the
floor of the valley. Here, awaiting them, were two
horses and a Mexican in a feded pink shirt and blue
jeans.

“Did they give you some lunch for us, Joe?” she
asked. And he nodded and pointed to a saddle-bag
on one of the horses, her own evidently, for it stirred
when it saw her and then nuzzled against her
caressing hand. “Take the car down then,” she told
him. “But wait until we’ve gone.”

Following her example, Malcolm hoisted himself
into the unfamiliar deep Western saddle with its
great pommel. His own horse was a rough-looking
bay, too small by English standards for a man of
his height; but Joe, after inspecting him critically,
adjusted the stirrups; and Malcolm realised that he
was expected to ride with a long stirrup, not grip-
ping the horse but merely balancing himself.
Andrea turned to have a look at him too, and
seemed satisfied by what she saw. “That’s Beany,”
she told him. “He’s a bit lazy, but he’ll do. And
don’t imagine these Western ponies will slip on the
rocks or be afraid of the steep slopes— they're not like
your English horses, and they’re as sure-footed as

236 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

cats. Thanks, Joe. And if they ask where I’ve gone,
tell ’em you don’t know.”

At a walking pace, with Andrea leading, they
followed the track, which was stony and twisted, for
ever avoiding boulders and menacing clumps of
spiky bushes and stunted cactus, until it left the
valley altogether. They were now on the other side
of Lost Lake, facing a high wilderness of peaks, the
nearer ones multi-coloured in their fantastic rock
strata and those far away tinted violet or deep
amethyst. Again Malcolm noticed how clear and
light the air was, as if newly created. Nobody, it
seemed, had ever breathed this air before. It had
not been thickened and corrupted by man and his
melancholy histories. It belonged to the time
previous to man’s appearance, to some golden age of
sun and rock and winds whistling over an empty
world. The sky was a silken blue, and there were
one or two small clouds in it, their shadows wander-
ing delicately over the faces of rock. 'The trail, very
faint now but obviously familiar to Andrea, dipped
into another valley, not as deep as that of Lost Lake
but sprinkled with the dusty green of greasewood
and creosote bushes and here and there glimmering
with mirage water. No sound at all except what
their horses made, ringing the rock with their hooves
or occasionally grunting. Andrea led the way in
silence. But when a pair of miraculous birds, bright-
blue when the sun caught them, flashed out of a
bush, to Malcolm’s astonishment and delight, she
turned and said: “Mountain jays. Aren’t they
marvellous?”

They were. But so was everything else. It was
to Malcolm a journey in sunlight through an

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET 837

Arabian Night. Even the very rocks, so curiously
veined in crimson and black and bronze, sometimes
glittering as if they were crammed with precious
stones, often so shaped that they looked like giants
and monsters petrified at a stroke, were rocks in a
fairy-tale journey to or from some enchanted castle.
He told Ajidrea so, and she turned to nod and smile.
Then, the trail being easier towards the end of the
dip, she broke into a canter, he followed, and
together they thundered nearly half-way up the
opposite slope, where the trail became steeper and
stony again. They climbed to the top at any easy
walk, and then suddenly Andrea, who was then
some fifteen yards ahead, turned and seemed to dis-
appear into a tall black face of rock, as if she had
cried “Open Sesame!” to it. He came up bewildered,
then saw that the trail turned sharply through a
cleft so narrow that one of his legs rubbed against
the side of it. Night still haunted this tiny narrow
gorge; the air was chilly; there was a trickle of water
among the shadowy mosses; the horses rumbled and
grumbled as they slipped upon the loose stones or
were forced to scramble up or climb over barri-
cades of small boulders; and they seemed to wind
their way for a long time through this cavernous
gloom, lost to the bright world above, like pon-
derous lizards moving through the rock. Andrea
kept calling back, telling him to be careful in this
place, to avoid that, and though her voice echoed
strangely there, sometimes arriving as a shout, at
others creeping along as a dying whisper, he thought
he detected in it a gaiety he had never heard before.
This, so far away from those crowded tennis courts,
the Bristol Hotel, the hard lights strung along the

238 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

Riviera, it appeared, was her own place: she was now
at home. And he followed, not dissatisfied, but still
wondering.

At last they came out into the open again, a whole
dazzling world of sun and bright air and blue dis-
tance, and now what remained of the trail, for Mal-
colm could see few signs of one, went down at an
easy slope on the top of a long ridge, a glistening
spur of rock. Nothing moved in the whole wide
scene; even the cloud shadows had vanished; and
the solitude, the vastness, the silence, were immense,
and had a quality of their own, were not accidental
and immediate, but seemed to have endured there
since the beginning of time. Or it might have been
that time was not known to them, had not even
begun because it could not make a beginning there,
or lay along a dimension of things that either they
could not recognise at all or saw in its entirety, with
yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow spread out and
flattened before them. But Malcolm did not lose
himself in this calm and timeless immensity. To
his own surprise, he found his outlook narrowing
to a single glowing point of passion, his feeling for
Andrea. It was as if here, where man was not
known, his humanity must assert itself, but all that
it could express at this moment was his passionate
need for this girl, which claimed him now with
astonishing force. As they went ambling down, with
Andrea still in front, leading the way it seemed into
blue air, he babbled silently but madly at her back,
bombarding the space between them with extrava-
gances of desire and devotion that surprised himself.
In this state of mind, far removed from the dreamy
consideration he had given her during these past six

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECaiET 239<

months, he remained until they halted, on a little
platform of gravel at the very end of the spur, a
look-out point sheltered on two sides by overhang-
ing faces of iron-grey rock.

No sooner had they dismounted than he put his
arms about her, feeling her warm and trembling
within the thin shirt she wore; and though she cried
out against it, he persisted and held her closer, and
at last she relaxed within his grasp, and the kisses
they exchanged had both passion and tenderness.
When at least he released her, she looked at him
a moment glowingly, then turned and attended to
the horses, handing him the saddle-bag that con-
tained their food. TTien, still in silence, she led the
way a little farther down to a still smaller sheltered
platform, where she had clearly been many times
before, put one hand on his shoulder, half leaning
against him, and pointed with the other. ‘‘That’s the
beginning of Death Valley,” she told him.

The ridges below them, running in fold after fold,
were bare as a bone, but in their elaboration of light
and shadow and varied rock formation they wore
a thousand subtly-graded hues; far away, as before,
were shining naked summits of rock and violet- or
amethyst-tinted peaks; but now far below, quivering
and glimmering, were the first reaches of the deepest
valley in the continent, waterless miles crusted with
salt, the sullen hot floor of the world. But now it
seemed to lie there smiling in beauty. There was
life, not death, in its vast quivering distances, its
prismatic colours trembling and melting in the
windless bright air, its antique stillness and silence
It was— or so it seemed to him, standing there with
his love— expectant, part of a planet newly made.

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

'240

warm from the oven of God, eager not for more
death but for life, ready to welcome eager,
struggling, dreaming, foolish, love-haunted human-
ity. If no fruit or flowers bloomed, light itself
did, light blossomed there, creating a million semi-
transparent and dissolving roses, violets, daffodils,
between salt-sand and the miraculous sun; yes, light
itself, the first great creative principle, the begin-
ning of all things, flowered there triumphantly.
Malcolm stared down in happiness and wonder.

“You’re glad we came here?” she asked, rather
shyly, as they sat down.

He told her he was, thanked her gravely for bring-
ing him, and said how strange and beautiful it was,
all of it.

“Yes, and why, why is it so beautiful?” she
demanded passionately, surprising him again. “Can’t
you see? Because it’s itself, just the world, just sun
and air and rock and sand, and no people to spoil it.”

He sat up, regarding her wonderingly. “Do you
really think people spoil the world?”

“Of course they do. Look at this, and then think
of the places where people are, millions of them,
your London, and New York, and Los Angeles, all
crowded together, screaming and squabbling and
thinking dirty little thoughts and all getting ready
to murder each other again. And the more there are
of them, the worse it is. Long ago, when there were
only a few people— and perhaps thousands of places
like this— it was all right. But now there are more
and more people and ugliness and dirt and horrible
things happening, and there isn’t much like this left.
That’s what I believe,” and she looked at him
defiantly, “and that’s why I don’t mind.”

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET 24 1

“Don’t mind what?” he asked, astonished by this
sudden outburst.

She shook her head, then brought out their food
and a thermos filled with hot coffee. Determined to
respect her moods until the right moment arrived,
for sooner or later to-day he must ask her point-
hlank what lay behind all this, he ate in silence, and
succeeded in setting aside his bewilderment to enjoy
their picnic.

“Have you thought much about that house you’re
going to build for yourself in the country?” she sud-
denly demanded.

He was delighted that she had remembered. “Yes,
of course. But I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“I’ve tried living in it once or twice,” she told
him, rather like a little girl enjoying a solemn fancy.
“Only in the summer, of course. I was back here for
the winter.” The dimple came and went; an
enchanting glimpse.

“You often come here, I imagine, to this place—
don’t you?”

She nodded. “It’s my favourite ride. Especially
lately. I’ve been down here nearly every day lately.
By myself, though sometimes a man comes along and
talks to me— he’s camping somewhere down there”—
she pointed vaguely downwards— “he brought his car
up Jubilee Pass, then ran it as far up there as it
would go and camps near it. He’s rather odd, witli
a beard— I think his name’s Mitchell— and he knows
a lot about geology and stuff, and tells me all about
it. He’s a nice man, though I hope he doesn’t turn
up to-day.”

“So do I,” said Malcolm fervently.

“You’ve a funny sort of little crinkle near your

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

242

right eye. I used to notice it when we were playing
in that tournament.”

“Good lordl I never thought you noticed my
existence then— let alone little crinkles.” He was
genuinely amazed.

“I noticed everything about you,” she said calmly.
“Naturally. Why, I wouldn’t have come out to
dinner— and— everything— if I hadn’t already decided
I liked you a whole lot. And you’ve never told me
how you found out who I was.”

So he told her about his mournful last day at the
Bristol, after she’d gone, and how that blessed old
gossip Bellowby-Sayers had shed light in his dark-
ness in the dining<ar of the Paris train.

“It’s hard to believe out here— and up here— that
old codgers like Bellowby-Sayers exist, but he did me
a marvellously good turn.”

“Me too— though I didn’t think so this morning,
when I heard you were here. I didn’t know what
to do.”

“But you came straight up to see me.”

“I know. I couldn’t help it. Gosh!— I’m giving
myself away,” she cried, not at all mysterious now
but a very nice ordinary sort of young woman.

They had finished eating, and were putting the
remains together.

“Look here, Andrea, I warn you. I’m going to get
to the bottom of all this,” he told her sternly.

For a moment she looked frightened and said
nothing but busied herself finishing the clearing up.
Had he spoken too soon, he asked himself anxiously,
watching her.

“Malcolm,” she began, looking at him with wide
dark eyes.

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET

243

What was coming now? “Yes, Andrea?”

“You can kiss me, if you like.”

He did like, and, mystery or no mystery, the next
ten minutes went flashing by like those blue birds.
At the end of them they were disturbed by the
sound of a stone clattering down somewhere below,
but not very far away.

“Oh phooey!” cried the dark goddess, annoyed.
She peeped over, then whispered. “Yes, I tliought
so. It’s the man with a beard— Mr. Mitchell. He
must have noticed the horses. But perhaps he won’t
stay long.”

“Well, don’t encourage him to,” he told her
severely.

“I will if I want,” she retorted, but then made a
little face at him. She was becoming more
ordinarily but deliciously human every minute, he
decided.

“Hello, young lady, you’ve got company this time.
Well, I’ll just smoke a pipe with you,” said Mr.
Mitchell, arriving somewhat breathless. He wore a
wreck of a hat, a tattered tropical coat, and tom
trousers, and yet contrived to have an air almost of
distinction. His face was darkly tanned, as if he had
been out in the open like this for years; he wore a
short pointed beard, streaked with grey; his hair was
nearly white but he had thick dark eyebrows; and
he had a fine twinkling eye, which seemed to
Malcolm to rest on Andrea with surprising interest
and affection. After being introduced to Malcolm,
he proceeded to ask that young man several sharp
questions about himself that he ought to have re-
sented from a total stranger, even here in the free-
and-easy West, but somehow didn’t. He and Andrea

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

244

appeared to be on the friendliest terms and spent
some time chaffing each other, after which Mr.
Mitchell, slowly pulling at his pipe, produced some
queer specimens of rock from his bulging tattered
pocket and explained their significance. After he
had been with them about half an hour, Andrea,
perhaps in the hope of breaking up the party, said
she must take a look at the horses and left the two
men together.

“That’s a fine girl,” Mr. Mitchell remarked, as
soon as they were alone. He looked curiously across
at Malcolm, as the latter warmly assented.

“Is she happy, d’you think?”

This took Malcolm by surprise. “Well— I don’t
know really— in a way, I don’t know an awful lot
about her — ” he stammered.

“You looked to me,” said Mr. Mitchell coolly, “as
if you were deeply interested in each other. All
right, you needn’t reply. And please don’t take
offence either. I’m genuinely interested too— as I
hope you can see.”

“Yes, I can see that. But why?”

“Well— she’s a fine girl— and we’ve had several
little chats up here. She listens to my geological
yarning, and doesn’t tell me I’m an old bore.”

Malcolm looked hard at him. “I’m sorry, Mr.
Mitchell. But you started this.” He lowered his
voice. “And that won’t do. I mean, there’s more
in it than that.”

“Think so?” He lowered his voice too.

“I’m sure. You might tell me.”

The older man took his pipe out of his mouth,
slowly blew out a shaft of smoke, stared sombrely
into the distance, and said quietly: “She doesn’t

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECaiET 245

know this. But I— well, I knew her mother— long
ago— before she married MacMichael— when I was
about the same age and in the same state of mind,
I guess, as you are now. I’m a mining engineer—
or was. Been out of the country for years and
years.” He lowered his voice yet again. “One of
the reasons why I came here was— well, just to have
a look at this— daughter of— somebody I once knew
very well. Now listen, young man, that girl isn’t
happy— ohl— she’s happy to-day sitting up here with
you, I could see the difference in a minute— but she
isn’t happy— and you know it.”

“Yes, I do,” Malcolm admitted.

The other leaned across and tapped him on the
arm. “She’ll be back in a moment,” he whispered
sharply and with great earnestness. “Don’t you
mind me talking like this. You look a fine fellow
and you’ve got a good profession. If you feel it’s
the real thing between you, marry her, quick as you
can, and take her out of this, right away. There’s
something wrong here.”

“I know there is,” said Malcolm. “And I’m here
to find out what it is.”

They could hear her returning now.

“Good luck to you!” whispered Mitchell, giving
him another tap, then scrambling to his feet.

“The horses say they want to go,” Andrea
announced.

“Did they say they wanted me to go first,” said
Mitchell smiling, “because I’m just off.” He looked
hard at Andrea, who seemed slightly confused stand-
ing there before him. “Good-bye, young woman.
And good luck, young man.”

They watched him slowly descend and saw him

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

246

turn and wave once, a small friendly figure. “I’m
afraid he guessed we didn’t want him,” said Andrea.
“And I like him really, though I don’t quite make
him out.”

“I do,” said Malcolm promptly, then went and
sat down with his back against the rock.

“I’ll bet you don’t. What do you mean?”

He beckoned. “If you’ll come here and be quiet,”
he said softly, “I’ll tell you.”

“Why should I come there? Besides, it’s time to
go.

“It isn’t, and you ought to come here because then
you’d make me very happy, and I’ve brought my-
self a long, long way, after much misery, and I
deserve to be made happy.”

“Old Mrs. Larrigan warned me against you,” she
told him, as she stretched herself by his side and
allowed herself to be kept there.

“Old Maw Larrigan was quite right, because she’s
a kind of old witch, one of the gang of witches and
wizards here, and she knows I’m going to break the
spell.”

“You’re cheating now. You see, you don’t know
anything about Mr. Mitchell— do you?”

“Yes,” replied Malcolm softly and slowly,
“because he told me while you were away. He comes
here to have a look at you and to talk to you and
see what sort of a girl you are, because he used to
know your mother. I think— in fact, I’m pretty sure
—he was once in love with her. Yes, that’s what he
meant, of course, when he said he’d been in the
same state of mind.”

“My mother,” repeated Andrea, at once astonished
and troubled. “She died years ago. I hardly

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET 847

remember her. And Father won’t talk about her. I
think he was terribly in love with her— and it was
all horrible, I believe, the way she died. I heard
my uncle, John it was— say something about it once
—and it sounded frightening— he can be very
frightening.”

He felt her tremble, and gathered her closer to
him and comforted her, so that nothing more was
said for several minutes. Then, as she stayed quiet
with her head resting against his arm, she asked: “Is
that all he said?”

“No, there was something else.”

“What was it?”

“He was very serious, and said that if I felt it was
the real thing between us, I must marry you as soon
as I could, to take you out of this, right away,
because he felt there was something wrong. And
I told him that I knew there was something wrong,
and that you weren’t happy— he’d said that he knew
you weren’t happy, except to-day. He knew you
were different to-day as soon as he saw you, happy
for once. You are, aren’t you, Andrea?”

“Yes, I think this is the only happy day I’ve had
since I’ve been grown up,” she replied slowly. “Only
bits before. There were some bits that week at
Beaulieu, especially the last day. But to-day I’ve
been really happy— I meant to be— and now you’re
spoiling it.” She was almost ready to cry.

But he continued doggedly, for he felt that it was
now or perhaps never: “I told him I knew there was
something wrong, something, I meant, that was
making you unhappy, and that I was here to find
out what it was.”

She struggled away from him, and looked at him

248 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

reproachfully. “I thought you were here— because—
you cared for me— and wanted to be with me.”

“It’s because I feel like that, I must know what’s
wrong. I knew from the first, from the very first
time we played tennis together, that there was some-
thing wrong, that you weren’t your real self, that
you were wearing a sort of mask, and behind it were
very bewildered and unhappy. And then you talked
such bitter stuff, about nothing being any good.”

“But I believe it, can’t you see?” she cried.

“You can’t believe it,” he told her, almost angrily.
Then he caught her to him, fiercely. “Is this no
good? Is what I feel about you no good? Don’t you
really care anything about me?”

“You know I do,” she flashed at him. “I shouldn’t
be here if I didn’t. Lookl” And she kissed him as
fiercely as he had pulled her towards him. “Do you
think I’d do that to any man? If you want to know,
this is the very first time I’ve behaved like this. And
do you think I wanted, to go off like that at Beaulieu,
when you looked so puzzled and miserable, poor
darling? I don’t care now. I’ll admit it. I’ve been
thinking about you too ever since that time. I’ve
talked to you for hours and hours. I’ve written
dozens of long letters to you and torn them up. I’ve
stared at the miserable little map of England trying
to find you. I had the London T imei sent up from
Los Angeles, just to read the tennis reports to see
if you’d been playing. And if it could be any use,
if this world was all different, I’d go anywhere with
you— now. How can you ask if I care about
you?”

It took him a moment or two to recover from
the effects, very mixed, confusing, rich, of this

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET 849

tremendous outburst, which revealed to him at last,
in flashing full-length, the deeply feminine, fiery-
hearted girl he had thought must exist behind the
mask at Beaulieu. She was almost terrifying, yet
still delicious, adorable.

“But then, don’t you see, if that’s how you can
feel, that it’s absolutely crazy to talk as if everything
were useless, no good, better done with? It doesn’t
make sense at all, Andrea.’’

“Yes, it does.’’ And he noticed, with an odd pang
of remembrance how she reverted to the very same
quick harsh tone she had used in that restaurant
at Beaulieu. “We’ve been happy to-day— yes— and
might be happy like this for some time ’’

“But of course. And with a place of our own.
And children— don’t you like children?”

She gave a quick shiver that told him in a flash
what he wanted to know, and he guessed at once that
here was no girl who would try to avoid mother-
hood, that there was in her an immense, deep, dark
well of maternal feeling he could not even begin to
understand. But any sudden gleam of delight and
tenderness soon died out of her face, and she looked
at him and answered him bleakly.

“Yes, we could be happy for a time. But it
wouldn’t last. You’d fall out of love with me. Or
one of us would be ill— suffer pain— perhaps die
young— as my mother must have done. We’d be
sorry then it had gone on. We’d wish we’d had this
day and no more. Even if there were children,
there’d be a war or something, to take them away,
or they’d grow up to dislike us. There’s always
something wrong. People can’t live in peace and
happily together— there’s nothing but misery in the

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

250

end. You remember what I said about this view,
how good it was simply because there were no people
to spoil it, as they spoil everything, even for them-
selves. It isn’t that I hate people— I know I’m just
one of them myself— they can’t help it— we all can’t
help it apparently— it’s just the wrong way we’ve
been made. There’s good in us, wanting to love,
to look after helpless little things, to enjoy the sun
and the mountains and the sea, books and music and
painting and fun, but it doesn’t get a chance, because
there’s too much bad in us, and though we may try
and try, all that happens is that there’s more ugliness
and pain and misery and fear and hate. You can’t
deny it, Malcolm. Look at what’s happening all over
the world. You know more about that than I do,
for I don’t care any more; I haven’t time to waste
even reading any more about their armies and
navies and bombing planes and spies and execu-
tions; but I know everything’s getting worse. Oh I
—can’t you see how useless and wicked it all is— just
more and more pain and misery? And I love you so
much.”

And she pressed her wet cheek to his, passionately,
groped for his hands and squeezed them, staring out
at a sunlight she could no longer see. And never
in his life before had he felt such a terrible tender-
ness as he did now, holding her close, and trying in
vain to calm his mind, so that he might reason with
her, not angrily, but calmly, gently. For now he felt
that she was like a child who had been carefully
taught a dreadful evil lesson, though there was still
about the way she repeated it a certain nobility of
her own, for the ugly ways of life, the pain and
misery, against which she protested so fiercely, these

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET 25 1

were not hers, and she had only seen them from
afar.

“You are telling me things you have heard over
and over again,” he said to her quietly. “It isn’t
really you talking. Deep down I doubt if you believe
it.”

“I do. Really, I do.”

“No. And whether you do or not, it’s only half
the truth. It’s one side, the darker side, of some-
thing that has to be two-sided, to have day as well
as night. I too hate the way the world’s going— that
is, in some directions, and I think we hear more
about the wrong tracks than we do about the right
ones. We’re not in Paradise, and have no right to
expect to be. People fall out of love, children die,
there are bestial wars, and everywhere there’s ugli-
ness and pain and misery, just as everywhere the sun
goes down and the night comes. But people also
fall in love, as we’ve done, and children grow up
happily, wars come to an end or are avoided, bits of
ugliness disappear— and it’s our job not to whine
that these things exist but to help them out of the
world, and people have fun together, help each other
in need, try to soften pain and drive away misery.
Even now, in many ways, people are better than they
were, and even if they aren’t, we can’t just sit about
and moan that it’s all hopeless. It’s good— it’s grand
and glorious— for us to sit here together— as you
admit yourself — ”

“Yes, my duck, I do,” she replied dreamily.

“But to imagine this is the only good thing in the
world, where there are millions and millions of
people just like us, all with their own particular bits
of happiness, their own hopes and dreams.

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

252

honestly, Andrea, that’s so self-centred and egoistical
_why— it’s diseased— sheer megalomania— a sort of
madness. And don’t tell me that’s really you.
Never! You’d never have thought like that, left to
yourself. You’re quite different, really. This is just
a foul lesson you’re repeating. It was taught you by
your father— and your two uncles.”

“What if it was?”

“Andrea,” he said solemnly, “you’ve got to tell
me what those three are doing.”

She gave a sharp exclamation, and then was silent,
determinedly silent.

“I’ll tell you this. I’m not the only one who’s
worrying about them. There are two other men—
one of them is that scientist. Hooker— who have been
trying to puzzle out what they’re doing.”

She shook her head.

“That’s not why I’m here,” he continued, trying
to make her look at him. “You know why I’m here,
because I fell in love with you. I don’t care
tuppence about your father or your uncles— they can
do what they like, so long as it doesn’t interfere with
our happiness. But then it seems it does. They’ve
made you believe life’s hopeless. You talk as if this
were the only time we could have together. You
know something, and you won’t tell me what it is.”

“I can’t,” she gasped.

“If it didn’t affect us, I wouldn’t ask you,” he
went on, pressing her. “But it does, and you know it
does. It makes all this— I mean, everything between
us— a mockery, a bit of faked-up happiness snatched-
at for a day — ”

“No, it doesn’t,” she protested. “Just the opposite.
Scnnething perfect that nothing can spoil.”

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET

253

“That’s not true. How can it be perfect when
you’re thinking one thing and I' another, when you
have a secret, big enough to cast a shadow over all
your life, that you hide from me, when we’re not
really sharing our thoughts, when I regard to-day
as a beginning and you talk of it as an end? That’s
just playing at love, just pretending for a few
hours — ”

“No, no, no, Malcolm— please!’’ And she wept,
clinging desperately to him.

He waited, then asked quietly: “What is it,
Andrea?”

She looked at him very earnestly, took his hand
and put it against her cheek and then kissed it
quickly. “This is real, isn’t it? I mean, you and
me?”

“Yes,” he replied, rather sadly, “I know it’s real
with me. Nothing like it before, and there’ll be
nothing like it again.”

She nodded. “Same here,” she said slowly. “And
you’re right— I see it now— I must tell you. My
father— and my two uncles— are planning— some-
thing.”

“I thought they were. But what?”

“They want to end the world.”

He stared at her. She looked perfectly serious,
even tragic. “Wait a minute,” he stammered in his
bewilderment, “you don’t mean, literally, they want
to end the world?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied hastily. “They want to
destroy everything, everything— and you know why,
because I’ve told you already— they believe life’s
hopeless, that it’s gone all wrong, that it would be
better if people were no longer born, just to sufiEer

254 the doomsday men

pain and misery— so they want to end it all. They’d
destroy the whole earth, if they could — ”

“I dare say,” he retorted grimly, “but that’s simply
ridiculous. And I don’t see what they can do.”

“They think they can destroy every living thing,”
she told him gravely, “almost in a flash. I don’t
understand it, but I know they think they can wipe
out all the surface of the world, even if they can’t
blow up the whole earth. And they’ve been working
at it now for several years.”

“But, Andrea, it’s— it’s— preposterous.”

“I knew you’d say that, but you don’t know them.
And don’t forget that Uncle Paul is a great scientist.”

He was busy nowremembering things that Hooker
had said, and was silent for several moments. When
he spoke again, they had reversed the roles in which
they found themselves that morning, for then he had
been uncertain and indecisive, rather helpless, and
she, in her deeply feminine, maternal, urge and will
towards their happiness, had known her own mind
exactly and had been sharply decisive; but now she
was uncertain and rather helpless, not knowing what
should be done next, whereas he was now sure, curt,
commanding, and she found herself compelled to
accept his decision without protest.

“We must go back,” he announced. “And I’m
going there with you.”

Never in Malcolm’s experience had there been—
and he felt there could never be again— a sunset like
that they saw on their return to Lost Lake. It was
as if the world was already ending. The whole
western sky was swept with brooms of fire; the fur-
nace doors of Heaven were flung open; the horizon
was one huge conflagration; red-gold castles flamed

ANDREA REVEALS THE SECRET 855

and melted on burnished peaks of gold; islands of
violet and palest green came through a dissolving
fiery mist; the clouds to the north were like black
guttering torches; the eastern sky had been sprayed
with rose and amethyst; the south glowed orange
and then paled to an egg-shell green; and at last the
west forgot its anger and streamed out into blanched
and tender night; and that was the end of the day’s
vast heroic death. When they were riding down the
last slope the earliest stars were twinkling, though
faint light from beyond the horizon still caught the
pale stretched silk of the sky. The hills huddled
down, their edges blunted, and the valley’s length
was lost in soft shadow. Angry little lights, like angry
little questions, spluttered from the grouped build-
ings and the white tower, but above them the night
arched itself, immense and ancient and still at peace.
Without another word Andrea and Malcolm rode
through the gateway, side by side.

CHAPTER NINE

THE THREE DESTROYERS

T he room they had given Hooker was
perhaps the most handsome and costly apart-
ment he had ever owned, even i£ only for a
day; although it was only one of many guest rooms,
and of no importance in the establishment. The
floor was covered with coloured and highly-polished
tiles, with two fine Oriental rugs over them; the
chairs and the bed were old Spanish, carved in dark
wood; the curtains were of the best Italian weaving;
there were some valuable pictures on the creamy
walls, and a well-stocked scarlet bookcase; every-
thing there was pleasant, instantly gratifying, to the
sight or the touch; a sumptuous and staggeringly ex-
pensive room. And Hooker had hardly noticed it,
though he had already spent some time within its
charming walls. Outside, reached through the two
long windows, was a broad balcony, running the
length of the front of the house and looking down
the valley; all tiled and polished and artfully
coloured too, with magnificent fat lounging chairs
and convenient low tables scattered about on it.
Hooker had spent most of his time up there either
wandering round and round his room or going out
on to the balcony and moving restlessly between his
window and the stone balustrade. He was trying to
put his thoughts in order, to collect and weigh
evidence, to make reasonable deductions from the

THE THREE DESTROYERS 257

evidence, to arrive at some conclusion. It just
couldn’t be done.

Ever since his session with Paul MacMichael that
morning, when MacMichael had asked him to run
his eye over some calculations, had then made
various strange remarks, boastful in tone but
mysterious in content, and had promised to show
him a certain curious experiment before the day was
out. Hooker had been trying to make up his mind
about his fellow scientist. It amounted to this.
Either MacMichael had resigned and disappeared
and finally settled himself in this remote place
because he was now so far ahead of his colleagues in
physics that he could only work independently, had,
in short, outdistanced the rest of them completely.
Or MacMichael was going quietly mad, and had
taken himself away, or had been removed by his
wealthy brother, in order to play at being the
greatest physicist on earth, here in this wilderness.
Hooker was convinced there was no other adequate
explanation of his behaviour and talk. Either he had
left them all standing, or he was mad; though it was
just possible, if not at all likely, that he had kept
his scientific wits and was losing all his others, in
short, that he was a great man going mad.

On arriving this morning. Hooker had been taken
straight up to Paul MacMichael’s study, and had
begun to talk by asking his host what the devil he
meant by playing him that stupid dirty little trick in
England. But MacMichael had instantly pooh-poohed
all such talk, and not like a man trying to rid himself
of an embarrassing topic but quite genuinely, as if
they had no time to waste on such trivialities. In-
deed, he said as much. He was in a queer, nervous.

258 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

jerky, excited state, as if he had been working too
much and sleeping too little for months, a condition
Hooker had encountered before in men who were
at the end of a long piece of close hard research.
But he had never seen any fellow scientist in quite
the state of mind MacMichael appeared to be in
now. One minute he would be biting his nails,
muttering doubts, and cursing to himself; and the
next minute he would be striding about and shout-
ing, gleefully and boastfully, like a conqueror crazy
with victories. The vast and intricate piece of calcu-
lation that he had allowed Hooker to run an eye
over, the greatest privilege, he declared, that young
man had ever enjoyed, was a sound mathematical
edifice, as Hooker acknowledged; but the formulas
and symbols had no reference, so meant nothing.
And Hooker had not liked the way MacMichael had
looked when he had told him so. Either the fellow
had really something tremendous that he was keep-
ing to himself, or he was going off his head. Then
there was the experiment, which Hooker would have
the supreme privilege of witnessing. It could not
be performed yet; something was missing, some
essential piece of apparatus. Hooker gathered; and
MacMichael was dancing on red-hot pins and
needles, it seemed, because the apparatus had not yet
arrived. Several times during the morning he had
called his brother John on the house telephone to
ask about this missing apparatus. What brother
John had to do with it. Hooker could not imagine.
Finally, Hooker had been told, rather peremptorily,
to go up to his room and wait there until he was
wanted. MacMichael had also hinted, rather grimly,
that if Hooker had so little genuine scientific

THE THREE DESTROYERS 259

curiosity that he would rather not wait, would rather
leave the place altogether, he might find it difficult
to get away. It was annoying, of course, being talked
to and treated in this high-handed fashion, and
Hooker had been annoyed, but unless he could
prove to himself that MacMichael was simply going
mental, he had not the least intention of leaving the
place, would not for the world have been anywhere
else.

So he had had a late lunch served up in his room,
and there he had stayed ever since, trying to make
head or tail of the business. He remembered Mal-
colm Darbyshire’s talk of the previous night, and
wished now he had not taken it so lightly. This was
Mystery Number Two with a vengeance! He had
decided then, rather reluctantly, that what these
MacMichaels were up to here, with their secrecy and
guards and guns and nonsense, must be something
that had a commercial value, they were fooling
about with gold or with the idea of a new precious
metal; but now, after talking to Paul MacMichael
again, he could not believe it even possible. The
brothers, of course, might have their separate whims
or lunacies, so that Paul knew nothing about John’s
murderous fanatics; but that too was hard to
believe. What, then, was the answer? He covered a
mile or two round his room and out on to the
balcony and back again, trying to find that answer.
Even when he stood outside, leaning on the balus-
trade, watching one of the most gorgeous sunsets
he ever remembered seeing, he was still attempting
to come to a decision about Paul MacMichael. He
remained where he was, even when the light had
faded, trying to recall every encounter he had had

26 o the doomsday men

and everything he had ever been told about
MacMichael, and was still in a maze when he heard
the clatter of horses below, and looked down. The
lights at the front gateway had now been turned
on. There was a girl, probably the one Darbyshire
had raved about. But who was this, coming along
with her, now on foot?

He leaned far over. “Darbyshire, Darbyshire,” he
called. “I’m up here. Hooker.”

“Stay there,” the girl called up, softly but clearly.
“I’ll bring him.” There were one or two men
down there, but not one of the brothers came
out. They were probably conferring together,
up in the tower. Hooker decided. He knew they
were all here, but so far he had only actually seen
Paul.

The girl did not bring Darbyshire along the
corridor but along the balcony, and there they all
met in front of Hooker’s room, and Hooker was
briefly introduced by his friend to Andrea Mac-
Michael.

“Andrea,” said Malcolm, speaking very quickly,
“I think you’d better keep out of this, and the less
you know about us the better. So I’ll stay here with
Hooker. Where will you be?”

She pointed to the end of the balcony. “In that
little sitting-room we just came through. I think
my father and the others must be in the tower. If
you’re still up here in two hours’ time I’ll have some
dinner sent up. And— please — ” But whatever she
was about to implore him to do or not to do, she
suddenly changed her mind about saying it, and
giving him a rather wan little smile, she nodded,
then hurried away.

THE THREE DESTROYERS 26 1

Malcolm hastily dragged Hooker indoors, and
closed the long windows.

“I’ve found out what it’s all about,’’ he began
hurriedly, “though it still doesn’t make any sense.
'These people must be quite mad. But Andrea told
me what they’re planning to do, and obviously she
believes it, and they must believe it themselves.
Hooker, they’re trying to bring the world to an
end.’’

Hooker had to laugh. “Is that all?’’

“Oh— I know, it sounds absolutely barmy. But
let me tell you what she said.’’ And Malcolm,
omitting the more intimate and tender passages, re-
counted what he and Andrea had said to one
another, dwelling carefully on her revelation of the
secret. “And whatever you may think about it all,”
he concluded earnestly, “I do assure you of this.
Hooker, that Andrea was dead serious— as a matter
of fact it completely explains her; you remember,
my Mystery Number One— and she knows what she’s
talking about, and I believe that whether these three
brothers are sane or mad— and I suppose, anyhow,
they can’t be quite sane— that really is their plan.
It can’t be done, I suppose.”

“What? Bring the world to an end? Of course
not,” said Hooker easily. “You might manage it
if you could steer a comet this way, but I don’t
imagine they think they can do that. This planet
may be a comparatively small and insignificant
celestial object, but nevertheless it’s a tidy lump of
matter.” ,

“But supposing it wasn’t a question of destroying
the whole earth, but only its surface, where there’s
life— could that be done?”

202 the doomsday MEN

“Quite impossible. Of course, if you could make
the earth crust shift everywhere, that would make a
migh ty nice wreck of us. Or if you contrived a
simultaneous explosion of interior gases every-
where, like the one at Martinique, we’d soon be
done for, but that’s not on the cards either. If you
brought the moon down, as the cosmic ice people
argue— they say an earlier one did come down— we
might soon be all tied in knots.” Hooker was enjoy-
ing himself. It was a pleasant change from his recent
bewilderment.

Malcolm still looked and sounded unconvinced.
“Didn’t they use to say something about splitting an
atom?” he ventured.

Hooker laughed again. “You’ve been reading the
back numbers of Sunday supplements, old son.
We’ve been splitting atoms for years. Nothing
happens that you’d be interested in. You don’t even
get a Nobel Prize for it any more. No, you’d have
to do a bit more than that, to be dangerous. Now if
all the electrons took it into their heads to be
positive instead of negative, then there would be an
almighty crack-up.”

“That couldn’t happen, I suppose?”

“Not a chancel”

Malcolm was persistent. “Look here, I’m com-
pletely ignorant about this atom and electron stuff.
I can’t imagine how you even start knowing they’re
there at all — ”

“You can photograph their tracks. I could show
you dozens of ’em.”

“All right. I’ll take your word for it. But isn’t
it just possible that this uncle of Andrea’s, Paul,
who’s a scientist, and you say yourself a good one.

THE THREE DESTROYERS 863

isn’t it just possible that he’s got on to something
you don’t know about, something”— he gave a vague
wave in the air— “that if you let it loose, full blast,
might make a mess of everything?”

Hooker suddenly looked grave. “Quite apart
from the sheer damned lunacy of the idea itself,”
he said slowly, “he’d certainly have to know a lot
more than I do about atomic structure and be-
haviour even to dream of such a thing. Curiously
enough, Darbyshire, that's just what I’ve been won-
dering all afternoon— whether he’s just going quietly
off his head or he really has something.”

“It might be both, y’know,” said Malcolm. “That
would explain it.”

“I’ve thought of that, but he’d have to keep
pretty sane and have all his wits about him to work
out a really long jump like that in atomic physics,
though I don’t say one part of him couldn’t keep
fairly steady on the job and the other part be going
mad.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Hooker, you’ve got
to find out about this. Why did he send for you?”

Hooker described his morning with Paul, the
calculations and the promised experiment. And all
this seemed to Mcdcolm a confirmation of Andrea’s
wild statement, and he told his companion so.

“The ironical thing is, of course,” he added, “that
we haven’t the least chance of persuading anybody
else— say, the authorities, if we told them— that we’re
not simply off our heads ourselves. They simply
wouldn’t believe a word of it.”

“Sure thingl” said Hooker. “That fellow Edlin
told you that, if you remember, when you asked him
why he didn’t try the police. Say— his yam fits in

804 the doomsday men

pretty well with this stu£E you’re telling me. I
wonder what became of that fellow. If they brought
him up here, they’re keeping him pretty close.”

Malcolm suddenly shuddered. “Do you suppose
—they might have killed him? My Godl— we sit
here, coolly talking it over— and we don’t know
what’s happening. Hooker, we’ve got to do some-
thing. I know— I swear— there’s some kind of evil
madness here.”

“I believe there is,” said Hooker gravely. He
waited a moment. “Listenl There’s a car.”

Looking over the balustrade, they saw five men
getting out of the car. One of them, the tallest, was
carrying a bundle of some kind. “I wonder if that’s
what Paul’s been waiting for,” Hooker whispered, as
they continued to stare down. “Hello! Who’s that?
The fellow who’s limping and cursing. Is it Edlin?”

Jimmy Edlin did not see them. He was far too
busy now, limping and cursing and groaning. So
they were going to take him to Father John, were
they? Father John couldn’t understand how one of
his brethren could have given away secret informa-
tion to a stranger, couldn’t he? And he wanted to
ask Jimmy all about it, did he? Well, Jimmy
decided. Father John would get a piece of his mind
if it was the last thing he ever did. And he went
limping into the house, guided by the bleached
young man. Kaydick had hurried off at once with
that precious piece of apparatus. Told to wait in
the entrance hall, Jimmy looked about him, with
grudging appreciation. Some money had been
thrown around here! A small fortune just in tiles
and rugs and curtains and furniture and carved
woodwork! Like a little Spanish palace. And a lot

THE THREE DESTROYERS 365

of damned fine games they were up to inside it,
weren’t they? Pretending to be religious, probably
pulling gold like mad out of the hill-side, and cheer-
fully kidnapping and murderingl A nice crowdl
And wouldn’t he tell the reverend Father so!

Meanwhile, above on the balcony, before they
could decide how to get into touch with Edlin, who
had plainly gone into the house under escort.
Hooker had received a message from Paul
MacMichael asking him to go to the tower at once.
Left alone, Malcolm at once thought of Andrea, only
to find her standing farther along the balcony, out-
side her room. These two were now in that highly-
magnetised state which irresistibly draws two
persons together, compels their eyes to meet, in-
stantly entangles their hands; and now they came
together on the balcony, and Malcolm explained
what had happened to Hooker and what had been
said before he went. They were still whispering,
standing outside the little sitting-room but in the
light from its open window, when they were dis-
turbed by a heavy, fierce-looking, oldish man, whom
Malcolm guessed at once, before he was hastily
introduced, to be Andrea’s father, the fabulously
rich Henry MacMichael. Like Andrea, he was dark,
and in his older, heavier, masculine fashion, he had
something of her square build, but otherwise Mal-
colm in that light could see no resemblance. He was
undoubtedly a formidable personage, obviously used
to command, but Malcolm made up his mind to
stand up to him. But would Andrea stand up to
him? 'TThiis, he felt instantly, would be the final test
of her feeling.

It came almost at once, just after Andrea had

s

266 the doomsday men

hurriedly introduced them. “Well, Mr. Darbyshire,
it’s interesting to know that you’re one of Andrea’s
friends, but as I’ve never given her permission to
bring her friends here— as she’s never even asked if
you might come along— I don’t quite understand
why we’re having the pleasure of your company.”
He said this in a rough, heavy tone, as formidable as
his whole weighty personality.

“I appreciate that, sir,” said Malcolm steadily.
“And I feel I ought to explain at once. Is that all
right, Andrea?” And he looked at her.

“Yes, Malcolm,” she replied, very quietly.

“Just a minute,” said her father. “We’ll go inside
for this. Can’t see out here.”

This made it much harder, of course, and prob-
ably he knew that, but as Malcolm followed them
both into the little sitting-room, he kept his courage
tightly strung.

“Well?” enquired Mr. MacMichael looking curi-
ously at them both, for involuntarily they had
drawn closer together and now stood facing him. He
did not appear any the less formidable in the light,
with his heavy-jowled brooding face, like that of
some ancient and incredible despot, some conquer-
ing emperor who had watched a thousand enemy
cities sacked and burnt and was weary of all such
spectacles, weary of everything.

“You see, I’m not just one of Andrea’s friends.
I’m— well— I’m in love with her.”

“You might easily be that,” said her father,
shrugging his heavy shoulders. “It’s of no conse-
quence, but I might point out that at one time it
used to be quite a habit of good-looking young
Englishmen, with not very bright prospects, to find

THE THREE DESTROYERS 267

themselves falling in love with rich young American
girls — •’

“This is diflEerent, Father,” Andrea flashed at him.
“And I love him too.”

“How long’s this been going on? All news to me.”

“It started when I went down to Beaulieu, you
remember,” she explained rapidly, not blushing but
very bright-eyed, “and Malcolm and I played
together— and I knew, of course, it was useless— and
I tried to discourage him— and myself too— but that
wasn’t any good, for either of us, because we’ve both
been thinking the same things all the time, as we
discovered to-day. If people possibly could be
happy together,” she ended wistfully, “we’d be
happy, I know.”

He shook his head, but the heavy hard look
softened a little as he regarded her eager young face.
He was clearly very fond of her in his own fashion.
“If this had come earlier, it might have been
troublesome,” he said, it seemed more to himself
than to them, “but now— what does it matter— what
can it matter? A day or two, to be happy in, young,
and thinking that love’s everything and lasts for
ever. Perhaps this is a good thing in its way, Andrea,
if Paul’s in such a hurry as he seems to be. I shan’t
have to wonder what you’re doing and thinking, if
this young man is what he says he is. Young man,”
and he looked hard at Malcolm, and his tone was very
grim, “if you’re not as good as gold to this girl, if
she’s not happy with you every minute, if she’s one
complaint against you, d’you know what I’ll do? I’ll
have you shot.”

A little white-jacketed brown servant appeared, to
say that Mr. Paul wished to speak to Mr. Henry

268 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

at once in the tower. At the door, Henry Mac-
Michael turned and looked again at Malcolm. “Or
I’ll shoot you myself. And don’t take that as a joke,
because it isn’t one.”

Left to themselves, the lovers looked at one
another with pride and joy and moved out again on
to the balcony, entirely forgetting for the moment
that the world might be coming to an end.

In another part of the house, in a small room,
closely-curtained, hung about with mysterious signs
and symbols, a room that had nothing to do with the
American South-West and the Twentieth Century,
Jimmy Edlin stood and glared at the other
MacMichael brother, known to his followers as
Father John. 'They were alone; though Jimmy had
a shrewd notion that the bleached young man who
had brought him along here had only retired to
the other side of the door, where he waited, with his
gun handy.

John MacMichael was a man about Jimmy’s own
age, but there all likeness ended. He was dark, and
his longish hair, with one lock falling across his right
temple, was streaked with grey. His nose was rather
long and pointed. His face had the dull flabby look
of those who spend too much time indoors. He was
a naturally slender and small-boned man now
rapidly putting on unhealthy weight. He wore a
dark-blue kind of blouse. His hands, Jimmy noticed,
were quite unusually small, with the thin pointed
little fingers of a woman. But his eyes were more
remarkable; they were much lighter than his hair
and eyebrows, almost yellow; and they had a strange
blind look, as if they were not used to observe the
world but only to see with in dreams and visions.

THE THREE DESTROYERS 869

They made Jimmy feel as if he were not quite there,
solid and real, standing in front of them. On the
other hand, a great many other things, invisible to
him, were there, he felt, to those eyes.

“Kaydick reports,” John was saying, in a small
precise voice, “that you had information that could
only have been given you by one of our servers, who
are bound by a solemn oath of secrecy. It is neces-
sary for me to know which of them it was who broke
that oath, so that I may pray and demand his eternal
damnation. And do not foolishly imagine we have
neither the means nor the will to make you speak.
We are the instruments of the divine vengeance.”

Determined as he was to put on a brave front and
to take this opportunity of telling Father John what
he thought of his murderous Brotherhood, Jimmy
could not avoid feeling the cold grasp of fear as he
heard these words, which reminded him un-
pleasantly of what Kaydick had said, that afternoon
at the ranch. They had the same cool, considered
and total inhumanity. Jimmy felt that if ants or
spiders could make speeches, they might be in a
similar vein to this. No ordinary human contact at
all. It was like tiying to have a chat somewhere on
the moon.

“I can soon settle that,” said Jimmy hoarsely.
“The information I had— the password about the
clock striking, and all that— I didn’t get from any
of your fellows. It came from my brother.”

“And who and where is your brother?” the other
enquired softly.

“He’s dead,” cried Jimmy, more boldly now. "He
was found murdered in the back room of a little
caf6 down-town in Los Angeles. Yes, and the people

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

who killed him were these big-nosed retired farmers
and tight-mouthed warehouse hands that you’ve
roped in and talked out of their senses. And don’t
tell me that you— a man of your education and posi-
tion— really believe this old-fashioned Bible-belt dope
you’ve handed out to these poor brainless louts. I
went to a meeting, and know what the stuflE’s like.
And it wouldn’t go down any longer even in a tent
in Arkansas. If you ask me, you’re not even an
honest fanatic.”

John MacMichael smiled, but only with his
mouth, not with those yellow blind eyes. “You are
wrong. I have an honesty that you have never
dreamed of. But the people must be taught accord-
ing to the reach and grasp of their understanding.
That was always the way, and in this our time is no
difEerent from other times. What matters is not what
the intellect can perceive but in what the soul may
believe and rest. As for your brother, he died not
because we delight in the shedding of blood, but
because the divine spirit has its plan and chooses its
instruments and workmen. Across the road by
which you came here to-night, some little creature
of the desert, perhaps a rat trying to return to its
nest, may have scurried, only to be crushed by one
of the wheels, set in motion by a plan, a scheme
of things, far away from and unknown to the
little creature. So your brother died; and so too,
very soon, may you, and indeed all of us die
in this corrupt body, a little of which dies every
moment.”

“But God’s truthi” cried Jimmy, exasperated by
this calm dismissal of downright murder, this lofty
disdain of all ordinary human values, “who are you

THE THREE DESTROYERS 27 1

to talk as if you were God’s right-hand man, in all
His secrets?”

“Who am I?” He smiled again, then his strange
eyes seemed to contract and his tone grew sharper.
“I am the one who has listened and so has heard,
who has looked and seen, who has asked through
hours and hours of silence for a command and has at
last received it. You have travelled far. I know that,
you see, though you are a stranger to me. I have
some powers almost lost now in this Western world.
So, you have travelled. What would you say if you
were describing the distant places you have seen to
a man whom you knew had never left his village,
and he refused to listen, denied your knowledge,
and asked who you were to talk as if you had seen
all the earth?”

“That’s not the same thing,” Jimmy growled,
though he found himself oddly impressed. “Not the
same thing at all — ”

“It is. For I have spent my time travelling too,
not along the surface of things, as you have, but
penetrating them, moving into another world
altogether, that of the enduring spirit. And what
I have seen and heard there, what has been taught
me, what I have received as a command, these give
me the right to talk as if you were a child, which
indeed you are — ”

“I may be a child according to your twisted way
of thinking,” cried Jimmy, with some violence, “but
I happen to know the difference between right and
wrong, and it’s my opinion you don’t any longer.
You’ve spent so much of your time sitting by your-
self in rooms like this, with everything shut out, just
imagining things and talking to yourself, that you’ve

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

272

got all mixed up, and fancy God’s talking to you — ”

“Be quiet,” the other commanded sharply, not
because he did not want to hear any more from
Jimmy, though there were distinct signs of that too,
but because the house telephone on the table beside
him was now ringing. “Yes, Paul,” he replied, and
then as he listened to what followed his face lit up
and the strange yellow eyes seemed to glow.

“And whatever this is,” Jimmy thought grimly,
“I’ll bet it’s damned bad news for everybody but
this gang of loonies.”

“You see, Paul,” John was saying, “that is how I
told you it would be. I knew.” He was triumphant.
Then he listened again, frowning a little. “But why
such haste?” he enquired, at length. “You are
certain? Well, that’s your concern. But I will send
out the messages to-night, and tell Kaydick to
summon all who can make the journey out here.
There’s one thing more. We’ve no time now to do
as we planned originally, to justify ourselves before
the world. Yes, too dangerous now, you may be
right. But I still feel compelled towards that justifi-
cation, and there is at least one man here, with me
in this room now, and you have another with you,
I think, and we may take these to represent that
world. . . . Yes, later, of course. . . .”

Jimmy stared and listened hard, and suddenly
found himself in a sweat of anxious bewilderment.
It was the triumphant tone and look, and above all
the wild visions flaring in those eyes, that frightened
him. What in the name of hell-fire was brewing here?

Near the other end of that telephone, where Paul
was still talking. Hooker wandered about restlessly,
looking dumbfounded. They were in the laboratory.

THE THREE DESTROYERS 273

immediately beneath the platform of the tower, and
a very fine little lab. it was too, as Hooker had
admitted at once. The experiment had just taken
place; hence Paul’s triumphant and urgent messages
to his brothers, and Hooker’s bewildered dismay.
While Paul was still talking. Hooker examined
everything again, feeling a fool, not like a fellow
physicist but rather like one of those open-mouthed
fellows from the audience who gape at the trick
properties on the stage. Yes, the heavy lump of
granite, which he had handled himself, had gone.
The thick lead screens, the thickest if not the largest
he had ever known, were unbelievably scarred and
blasted. A little more force, and that would have
been the end of those screens, perhaps the end of
everything and everybody in the lab. itself. He
looked around as carefully as he could, for he did
not trust MacMichael, too dramatic altogether, too
queer, too conceited, to be a completely trustworthy
experimenter; but he was still feeling dazed. Gee—
what an experiment! More like a little volcanic erup-
tion! And what an eruption, what an earthquake,
unless there was some catch in it he couldn’t see, it
was going to cause in the world of physics! Boy— oh
boy! But he still couldn’t make head or tail of it.

“No deception. Dr. Hooker,’’ cried Paul, now
coming across the lab., “no deception at all, dear
doctor, I assure you.”

That emphasised “doctor” was just a sneer, of
course, and Hooker wished to heaven he could put
his finger on some flaw or trick that would wipe
the sneering smile off MacMichael’s dark face, now
alight with triumph.

“I don’t get this at all,” he grunted.

274 the doomsday men

“Quite a small voltage. Get that?”

“Yes, I know.”

“A mere speck of the bombarded element, the
tiniest possible. You saw it?”

“Yep. I saw it all right. But what is it?”

“One that we seemed to have carelessly over-
looked, Dr. Hooker. Of course it has no commercial
value, and we live in a world that cherishes com-
mercial value. But oddly enough, it’s also been
overlooked by all you fellows experimenting in
transmutations, perhaps because you’re all so busy
instructing the young about spectra and isotopes.
But of course I’ve been busy some time myself on
transmutations, and I hardly need tell you that this
is an artificial element, very difficult to produce. It
happens, however, that tunnelling under this tower,
deep down, we found a rich deposit of a certain
heavy mineral, also of no commercial value— -what
a pleasure it is to say that. Hooker, in this greedy
world!— that was of great assistance to me. I don’t
feel inclined at the moment to give you the atomic
number of my element— it’s very high, of course,
though curiously enough this element is only un-
stable under certain conditions, but then it can
behave very queerly— but let’s give it a name, shall
we? I wonder if you’d think me egoistical if I called
it, just for reference, paulium?”

“All right,” grumbled Hooker, who disliked the
tone of all this. “Go on.”

“And I have another new name for you to learn,
if you don’t mind. Dr. Hooker, another little
coinage of my avm. I know you’re well acquainted
—I remember one or two little discussions we
had —

99

THE THREE DESTROYERS 275

“So do I, MacMichael,” muttered Hooker,
angrily.

“Well, what about them?”

“Only that you were just as damned high-hat then
as you’re being now. Can’t you drop it, and talk like
an honest-to-God scientist?”

“When I first began to have a few ideas of my
own. Hooker— oh, much younger than you are now
—I did talk, as you say, like an honest-to-God scientist
—talked straight out of my mind and heart, for I
think we fellows sometimes have to use our hearts
too— and what did I get in return? You ask some
of those pompous old frogs still drivelling in their
professorial chairs what they tried to do to me. And
I’d even changed my name, so that people wouldn’t
think I was trading on the old man’s fame and for-
tune. I received too many neat slaps on the face.
Hooker, so I stopped showing it to them.”

“Well, I didn’t do it,” said Hooker, speaking
abruptly. “And I’ve had to take it— even from you
—without getting sour. But let’s get back to the
subject.”

“Willingly. I was talking about my other little
new coinage, and I say that I know you’re well
acquainted with electrons, neutrons, deuterons,
photons, but this, I think, will be quite new to you.
And you saw it in operation here. Sfiall we call it
a dynatron?”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“I know that. Hooker. But it meant something
round here— didn’t it— a few minutes ago?”

“Alpha particles?”

“No, that won’t do, quite. In fact, we’ll have to
reconsider a good deal of that radioactive theory, in

a^e THE DOOMSDAY MEN

the light of what I’ve recently discovered. I can’t
explain the result of five years’ intensive research in
five minutes, Hooker, but you can take it from me
that what I’ll call my dynatrons have a very respect-
able kinetic energy indeed— hence the name. I
suspect all the radium compounds are releasing
them, but you know how difficult they are to handle,
whereas this tiny group of peculiar unstables, of
which paulium is easily the best for my purpose, are
comparatively easy to handle. Now bombard, even
mildly as we did just now, this paulium, and it
starts to disintegrate at once, releasing the
dynatrons— only a few, of course, if you treat it
gently. Even then, as you saw, the fun begins. And
if you don’t treat it gently, if you’re really rough
with it — ”

“Listen, MacMichael,” Hooker broke in,
earnestly regarding him, “I’ve just heard some
ridiculous talk here about ending the world. Now
quite apart from the sheer God-damned wickedness
of the thing, you’re not cracked enough to believe
you could do it— are you— just because you’ve dis-
covered one or two things ahead of anybody else?’’

“Foolish idea, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and you know it is. Handing ’em out that
stuff— and you call yourself a scientisti” Hooker
made the taunt quite deliberate.

“Why, you young lout, I not only call myself a
scientist, but I’m a better scientist than you could
prove yourself to be within the next five hundred
years, not one of which you’re going to live to see.”

“World ends to-morrow, I suppose?” Hooker
jeered.

“That’s exactly what I’m planning, my dear

THE THREE DESTROYERS 877

doctor,” said MacMichael, in a quiet but deadly
tone, ‘‘and later I’ll let you know the exact time.”

‘‘Boo! You can’t kid me, MacMichael, even if
you can play about with your precious paulium, and
your dynatrons, which ten to one will turn out to
be heavy electrons — ”

‘‘I knew they weren’t that, nearly two years ago,”
said MacMichael, still quiet but very angry, which
was precisely what Hooker intended he should be.
“And I’m not fool enough to imagine 1 can explode
this planet, for even you know what its density must
be near the centre. But I can peel it like peeling
an orange, only faster.”

“Talk sense!”

MacMichael’s gigantic conceit, amounting to
megalomania, responded at once to this further
jeer. “Just come this way. Hooker,” he said, in the
same quiet but very angry tone, and went to the
other end of the laboratory and opened a door there.
Hooker was not slow to follow him. A short flight
of curving metal stairs led down to a small platform,
inside the body of the tower. They reached the plat-
form, and MacMichael switched on a light or two.
Hooker, peering down, exclaimed in surprise. The
few lights that had been turned on were not enough
to illuminate clearly the great shaft, but Hooker
caught sight of vast metal bulbs and other apparatus
that suggested an electrostatic generator of unusual
size.

“Yes, there’s the generator,” said MacMichael
complacently, “but of course that’s not all. I've
combined that with a cyclotron of an entirely new
type, and much, much bigger than the ones those
boys at Cal. Tech, are playing about with. In fact.

278 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

you may say that most of the tower itself is a kind
of cyclotron. Which ought to make you think a bit,
Hooker. And not only that,” he continued,
motioning his companion back up the stairs, “but
as you may have guessed, I’m going to use a very
high voltage indeed, something quite pro-
digious.”

“You’re on that power line from Boulder Dam,
aren’t you?” said Hooker bluntly.

“Yes, my brother arranged tliat for me, and
though of course it’s been an expensive business, it’s
going to be worth it. But you’re still looking puzzled,
though I notice not quite so incredulous as you were
a few minutes ago.”

“Then I’m not looking what I feel,” said Hooker,
in the same blunt tone. “I still feel you’re cracked.
You’ve got one hell of an apparatus there. I’ll grant
you that— it makes anything else I’ve seen look like
a toy from a ten-cent store — ”

“Oh, the whole thing, I can tell you, is very im-
pressive, and I’m sorry I can’t show it to you in
detail. But you know the size of this tower— and
that’ll give you some idea of the scale I’m working
on.

“All right. It’s a honey. And so what?”

Paul MacMichael put his hands together with a
little clap. Oh!— he was enjoying himself all right!
Hooker concluded that probably the real reason
why he had been brought up here was that
MacMichael couldn’t resist showing off to a fellow
physicist. His brothers, though probably sympa-
thetic, weren’t really interested; and his colossal
vanity demanded at least one scientist as a final
audience. And now he clapped his hands together

THE THREE DESTROYERS 279

and looked delighted with himself. Hooker could
not imagine what was coming.

“According to my calculations, Hooker, and I’ve
given the matter very careful and long consideration
—I’m very thorough, though I may not look it,
because I don’t happen to be a dull little professor
—when that little instrument you’ve just had a
glimpse of is set in motion, the structure of the
world’s surface will not stand the resulting strain.”

“Because you can bombard a pinch or two of your
paulium, I suppose?” said Hooker, still trying to
jeer hard.

“Not a pinch or two, my friend. I told you we’d
been fortunate in our situation here. I’ve been work-
ing hard and I’ve managed to manufacture— a vulgar
word for it, but you know what I mean— and accu-
mulate far more than a pinch or two, or even a
pound or two, of this most dangerous element. And
I’ve worked out a very severe treatment for it— it’s
quietly waiting down there— and unless my calcula-
tions are very faulty, the instantaneous and pro-
digious flight of dynatrons— I must use my own term,
if you don’t mind— will be very disturbing to the
structure of the upper levels of our earth, which
was never devised to withstand such a sudden release
of energy, energy gone mad, instantaneously break-
ing all decent bounds. What may happen to the
earth’s core, I neither know nor care, but for every-
thing outside that— unless, I repeat, my calculations
are all wrong— I think I can promise instant dissolu-
tion. I’ve taken science as far as it will go in the
life of mankind. Hooker. You’re listening— now, I’m
glad to say with that oafish grin off your face— to
the last and greatest of its great scientific figures.”

88o the doomsday men

“I’m listening,” said Hooker, rather painfully, “to
a ma dman . You wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“I would,” and he glanced at his watch, “and in
an hour’s time, after we’ve all had some food, I,
along with my two brothers, will explain why. Yes,
we’ve agreed to justify ourselves. We’d hoped to do
it on a much bigger sczile, but that won’t be possible
now. I’ll take you down. I must tell you, by the
way, that there’s no possible chance of your getting
away from here to-night, and that we have guards
all over the place, who, reasonably enough, as I
think you’ll agree, wouldn’t hesitate if necessary
to kill you here and now. After you. No, no, that’s
not politeness. You go first. And here, you see, wait-
ing for us, is one of our men. You’ll find them all
over the place, I’m afraid.”

Once back in the house, they separated, Paul
joining his brothers, and Hooker being taken into
a small room just off the entrance hall. Here he
found both Malcolm and Jimmy Edlin, and food
was brought for the three of them. While they ate,
with no great show of appetite. Hooker grimly ex-
plained what he had recently seen and heard from
Paul. He was still sceptical about the total result,
he told them, but admitted that with such vast un-
known forces being used deliberately to achieve the
maximum of destruction, any horror might happen.

“But— but— hell’s bellsl ” stammered Jimmy,

who had listened open-mouthed, “we can’t just sit
here and let three madmen blow everybody to
smithereens. We must do something— now.” And he
banged the table.

"Yes, but what?” asked Hooker.

"Oh— jumping Moses!— I dunno— but there must

THE THREE DESTROYERS

28 i

be something, and you ought to be the fellow to tell
us what— you know about this electron business.”

While Hooker meditated, Malcolm remarked: “It
seems to me the only possible thing we can do is
to bust up the apparatus in some way, so that he
has to postpone his attempt, and then meanwhile
we’ll persuade the authorities ”

“I don’t believe much in those authorities,” said
Jimmy. “While we’re trying to persuade them these
MacMichaels are dangerous lunatics— and, mind
you, from what I’ve seen and heard of ’em, they’d
have us taped from the start, probably jailed before
we’d begun our persuading— these three madmen
would have time to take California to bits even with
a pick and shovel.”

“It’s not as bad as that,” said Hooker, who was
all seriousness now, “because I believe I could get
some federal people to take my word for it that
something was all wrong here. But that would take
time. And in order to give ourselves time, the only
thing we can do, as Darbyshire says, is to try and
wreck his apparatus. We can’t cut off the electric
power.”

“Why not? That’s an idea— if it’ll stop it.”

“It would cramp his style all right,” said Hooker,
“though of course he’s probably storing up the juice
right now. But how are we going to do it? We have
to get outside first, and even then— those pylons
are high and the cables are thick and tough. No,
our best chance is to get inside that tower, with
an axe or two.”

Jimmy sighed. “I wish we’d a few shots of dyna-
mite. I’d show those boys something.”

“Whatever we do,” said Malcolm, looking rather

I

282 the doomsday men

pale and desperate, “we must do to-night. I believe
it’s our last chance.”

“Brother John— and there’s a happy-go-lucky pal,
believe me, Brother John— he told me they want to
have a little chat with us, a nice cosy little party
after dinner and a nice cosy little talk about why
and how they’re going to blow hell of everything.
Great suffering catfishl” Jimmy bellowed. “Can’t we
do anything? I’m getting as nutty as they are, just
trying to think about it.”

Their presence was now demanded in the music
room upstairs. It was, as Jimmy had said, quite a
little party, and Malcolm thought as he surveyed it
that the world could hardly ever have knowm a
stranger party than this. The setting was nearly as
odd as the people. Here they were among the Cali-
fornian mountains and desert, but they might have
been somewhere in Thuringia or Bavaria, for in this
music room the MacMichaels had departed from the
excellent old Spanish style and had attempted the
old German or Austrian, a sort of Gothic with a
touch of baroque, and a perfect background for one
of Hoffmann’s wilder tales. It was a long room with
many heavily carved rafters, a great Gothic fireplace,
pointed tall windows, some carved wooden screens,
and high-backed chairs covered with dark-brown
hide. In the wall opposite the fireplace was a wide
and richly ornamented alcove, with its floor raised
about a foot above the rest of the room, and here
there was a fine concert grand piano. Opaque,
golden-tinted bulbs in the two wrought-iron chan-
deliers, together with the red-gold flickering of the
great wood fire, gave the place a dim soft light and
made it look even more mysteriously Gothic. There

THE THKEE DESTROYERS *83

ought to have been green<oated foresters in atten-
dance, and a miller’s beautiful daughter and a witch
or two somewhere in the immediate neighbourhood.
Malcolm stared at it all in amazement, and began to
feel once more that ordinary reality was vanishing,
to make way for fantastic dream stufiE.

Andrea was there, thank goodness, to drown him
in her great dark glances. Her father was there,
coolly smoking a cigar, as if this really were a party
And now Malcolm saw her two uncles for the first
time: Paul with his thick eyebrows and dark short
beard, a kind of brooding brilliance about him; and
the strange John with his falling lock of hair and
his queer visionary’s eyes. All three brothers were
quite different, and it was as if they represented three
different qualities of our species, for Henry seemed
the embodiment of ruthless power, Paul of search-
ing mind, and John of intuitions and dreams and
visions; yet there was also a definite likeness between
the three, something dark, twisted, remote, they had
in common, like the branches of one sinister tree
And it caught at Malcolm’s heart to remember that
Andrea too had flowered from this same tree. He
stared at her as if to discover where it had flawed
her, and it seemed as if she knew what he was think-
ing and wondering, for suddenly she looked deeply
troubled. Meanwhile, as if to give the scene its
crowning oddity, John was stormily improvising at
the piano. He played well too, though there was
his own quality in the music, now despairing in
great descending chords, now rising and clashing
into some disturbing triumph. Malcolm, busy with
his unspoken commerce with Andrea, only half-
heard him. Hooker, who like many mathematically-

284 the doomsday men

minded fellows was extremely fond of music,
listened carefully. Jimmy Edlin stared about him,
and moved restlessly and impatiently, and appeared
to be on the point of interrupting at any moment.

Then John came down from the piano, and stood
near his two brothers. It was he who opened the
fantastic proceedings. “You three men,” he began,
looking at them in his queer blind fashion, “are here
because you may be said to represent the world of
men we wish to destroy.” He spoke in a careful, soft
but clear voice that was peculiarly intimidating.
“We intended to justify ourselves before the whole
world, for we are not criminals — ”

This was too much for Jimmy. “Why, you’re the
biggest criminals who ever lived.”

“Keep quiet, you,” said Henry MacMichael
sharply. “If you don’t, you’ll be taken outside,
where a lot of things might happen to you.”

Before John could resume, there came a knock.
It was Kaydick, who stood just inside the door.

“All the messages have gone,” he reported to John
respectfully, “just as you commanded. All the broad-
casting systems will now have received them. To
the two here in America, I spoke myself over the
telephone. The messages were received as you said
they would be, in a spirit of mockery. They
laughed,” added Kaydick bitterly.

“1 had already heard, in the depths of my mind,
the fools laughing,” observed John calmly, while
Malcolm and Hooker and Jimmy exchanged quick
glances. “You can do no more. You have told all
those who have served us faithfully to be present
here early in the morning, to receive my final
blessing?”

THE THREE DESTROYERS 285

“I have. And you have their prayers to-night.
Father. But you have not told us what will be the
exact hour and the final signal.”

“Wait,” said John, and turned to his brothers.
They withdrew into the alcove, to talk privately.
Kaydick waited with his back to the door, so that
the remaining four, who had now risen and were all
grouped near the fireplace, were left to themselves.

“If only one of us could get near a telephone,”
Jimmy groaned softly.

“I could,” Andrea whispered, “but what use
would it be?”

“I don’t know,” said Jimmy, whispering too, “but
it’s the only thing I can think of— and for God’s sake,
let’s try it. Here, when we know the time and the
signal business, for the love of Pete make an excuse
and slip out, and telephone this fellow here—” he
pressed a slip of paper into her hand “—his name’s
Charlie Atwood and at least he’s got a plane and he
knows me and knows there’s something wrong— and
tell him from me what’s happening and he’s got to
try and stop it some way or other — ”

“Please, Andrea,” said Malcolm urgently, trying
to repeat in one deep glance all that he had said to
her that afternoon.

She nodded. There was no time for more. 'They
separated as the three MacMichaels came out of the
alcove. Andrea, whom Malcolm was watching
anxiously, now leaned back in her chair and he
thought he saw her tremble slightly. But now, at
least, he knew that the long spell was broken, that
she had come out of the evil dream, had turned from
death to life; and even though he was terribly
anxious, and could believe now that this dreadful

286 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

lunacy might soon sweep them all away, underneath
that anxiety there was a kind of deep solemn joy.

“Ask two of your men to come in here,” John said
to Kaydick. They must have been waiting on the
other side of the door, for now he brought them in
at once, and Jimmy recognised them as two of the
men who had been with him in the car. And now
they were not only armed with revolvers, which pro-
truded from their pockets, but also with short
powerful shot-guns. Kaydick stationed one of them
near the door, and the other not far from the wall
opposite, commanding the group round the fire
from another angle. Then he looked enquiringly at
his leader.

“At ten o’clock exactly,” said John, “and from
nine-thirty onwards we three alone will be in the
tower. I shall be on the platform, praying, and when
all is ready and the hour comes, three times I shall
raise my hands. You will station the brethren on the
hill-side, where they may watch and pray, but the
servers must remain on guard until tlie very end, and
from nine onwards you will station them round the
tower. These two tvill remain here until we have
done, and then take these three men away and keep
guard over them until the morning. You have done
well. Brother Kaydick, and will find your reward in
a life more blessed and enduring than this.”

“And I hope you bum and freeze in hell!”
muttered Jimmy, as his old enemy prepared to
depart.

“And now,” said John, turning after Kaydick had
gone, "you shall hear us. Will you speak first,
Henry?”

The sombre heavy figure stirred, then put down

THE THREE DESTROYERS 287

the cigar, almost as if he were performing a symbolic
act. But Andrea spoke first, rising hurriedly.

“Father,” she said faintly, “may I go? I’m sorry
—but all this— now when it’s really here— I feel ”

“Yes, Andrea my dear,” he told her, “off you go.”

“Wait,” said John, lather sharply for him, turn-
ing his queer blind gaze on her. And Malcolm, his
own blood stopping, saw her falter and blench.
“What is in your heart, Andrea?”

“Oh!— let her go, John,” said his brother im-
patiently, and then waited until she had gone, the
man stationed at the door opening it for her care-
fully. Malcolm breathed again.

“You think we’re mad,” said Henry heavily,
addressing himself chiefly to Malcolm, piobably
because it was not long since they had talked to-
gether. “Well, we’re not. And we’re only doing
what we are doing after many years of careful con-
sideration. But I’ll speak for myself. I’m a man of
business, of affairs, of action, and a very successful
one. I began with many advantages, as you probably
know, and I’ve improved on those advantages.
There aren’t many things I couldn’t buy, even in
these times. I can look at life not from the bottom,
as a poor failure, but from the top, as a man of
wealth and power, not kicked about the world but
treated everywhere with respect. I don’t know what
life’s always been like— I don’t pretend to have much
ima gination and I’ve never been interested in the
past— but I say that as it is here and now life’s not
worth having. It isn’t even for me, let alone the
millions of poor devils who wonder where the next
loaf of bread’s coming from, who sweat their guts
out just continuing to exist and feel more misery.

288 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

I’ve struck many a balance, not only with my own
life but with hundreds of other people’s, and there’s
always a debit, way down on the side of anxiety and
disappointment and suffering and despair. They talk
a lot about love, for instance, but even that only
takes away your guard, leaves you wide open, to
suffer not only for yourself but for somebody else,
as I’ve seen twice in my own life. Then again, we
may be inventive but we can’t grow up fast enough
to use our inventions properly. I’ve gone over all
the systems of production and distribution they try
or clamour for, and not one of them represents a
single grain in contentment and happiness. There’s
always a snag that was forgotten. There’s always
the iron law of diminishing returns. And the
more there are of us in the world, the more
anxiety and discontent and fear and misery. I pon-
dered for years how to make the best use of my
money. Patching people up in hospitals so that
they’ll have more pain later on? Colleges where
they teach the poor young devils to want more than
they can ever get? Then I saw that the best thing I
could do was to help put an end to it all. Why,
there are millions and millions of poor fools now
wondering when next they’ll have a good night’s
sleep. Now, with luck, we’ll all sleep well to-morrow
night.” And he gave a final shrug of his heavy
shoulders.

Malcolm stared at him, his mind racing but find-
ing no exact words to utter in protest. “It’s all so
twisted,” he stammered, “so wrong— deep down— not
mad in the ordinary way perhaps— but— but — ”

John made a gesture to stop him. “Paul?”

Paul’s brooding clever face kindled with a sort of

THE THREE DESTROYERS rSq

bright malice. He gave a mocking glance towards
Hooker, to whom he chiefly addressed his curt sen-
tences. “I’m a scientist. A good one, an honest one,
who’s given his life to pure knowledge. I agree with
with what my brother has just told you. And of
course I have my own angle too. I have a chance of
performing the last and greatest experiment known
to science. To release the earth’s energy to destroy—
I hope in a flash— the life on it. That life, in my
opinion, was an accident. Here I differ from my
brother John, who has mystical views, though for-
tunately we agree about what will happen, must
happen, to-morrow morning. I’m a materialist.
What we call life is matter so arranged that it begins
to think and feel. And it has no business thinking
and feeling. That’s the mistake. Man or any being
like him is doomed from the start. He can’t possibly
find a lasting place for himself in this universe,
which if it has plans are not plans for us. Out of
the eternal dance and changing patterns of light and
energy,” he cried, now suddenly losing his curt cold
tone and speaking with passion, “mind has somehow
emerged, to acquire knowledge but also to under-
stand its own noble despair. But it can still use that
knowledge for one last triumphant stroke, one
supreme act of defiance, refusing to wait until its
long dreary death sentence is carried out, but
deliberately timing its exit, with all humanity like
a Socrates, grandly destroying itself, leaving the
mindless cosmos to its own damned dance of blind
energies, for ever.”

Malcolm looked across at Hooker and was startled
to see that long, lean, sceptical face suddenly wet
with tears. Hooker did not speak but continued to

200 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

look down, twisting his big capable hands, as if there
had been something in this speech of Paul’s^-and
something, too, that deeply stirred him— to which
he could find no reply.

It was Jimmy, snorting and nearly purple with
suppressed indignation, who found his voice. “Do
you know what’s the matter with you?” he cried,
glaring from one to the other of the three dark
brothers. “Partly conceit— thinking you know it all,
not admitting most of it’s above your head. And
partly staying in too much, shut in a room, thinking
round and round. One sharp morning’s walk, with
the sun shining, would teach you more than you all
know put together, if you’d only keep your mind
open and let it.”

They ignored this outburst. Paul had clearly
finished. John had still to begin, and apparently
was in no hurry. But he made a sign, and Jimmy
stopped fuming and grunting.

The strange John turned on them his unseeing
amber gaze, shook his head so that the dark lock
trembled on his brow, then smiled. “My brother
does not realise,” he said quietly, “that he himself
is but an instrument in the grasp of a power whose
very existence he will not acknowledge. Tliis uni-
verse of his, with its blind dance of atoms, is only
an illusion, and all our life here is only a kind of
dream, a shadow play. And we can only be bewil-
dered by the dream and the shadows if we imagine
that science can give us any true vision of reality.
The measurements of a house are not the house.
The reading of a man’s weight on the scales does not
give you the man himself. My brother looks out
through his eyes and is in despair because nowhere

THE THREE DESTROYERS RQl

can he see himself, forgetting that he is behind and
not in front of his own eyes. But I have looked the
other way— and found God. Now aU that is happen-
ing in the world has long been foretold, for God
warns us. But all the nations, one by one, are turn-
ing away, some to this idol, some to that, and like
the men who built Babel or mocked at Noah, in an
age not unlike ours, they imagine they can live with-
out God. But God is not mocked. And this world
is now the great Babylon that was foretold in the
Book of Revelation. I have prayed that no more
souls of men may be born into this later and greater
captivity, and as it has happened many times before,
by the divine irony, my prayer has been granted and
the instrument of destruction and salvation placed
in my hand by the errors of my own brothers. They
go to seek death. I go to seek life. And we cannot
be judged by such as you, who are not proud enough
to prefer death, nor wise enough to know where life
is. Mad?” concluded John MacMichael calmly. “Are
we, who know what it is we seek and take the shortest
road to it, to be called mad, by such as you, who, like
all true madmen, live in an uneasy dream of life,
pursued by and pursuing shadows? I tell you — ”

“You’ll tell me nothing else, you crack-pot,”
bellowed Jimmy, jumping up and looking as if he
were about to charge like a maddened bull. John
stared calmly, but the two men, at a quick signal
from Henry, came forward, pointing their guns.
And even the furious Jimmy shrank from being im-
mediately minced by those point-blank wide charges
of heavy shot.

“Well, we've had our say,” said Henry wearily.
“Take ’em away— shove ’em in one of those little

2g2 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

end rooms— and don’t leave ’em until morning.”

Without another word from the three brothers,
they were roughly hustled away, Jimmy still shout-
ing protests, Malcolm and Hooker subdued and
silent. As they were marched along the corridor,
Malcolm had no sight of Andrea, and felt it
dangerous to enquire for her. Hooker looked grim,
and said nothing. Jimmy muttered curses on the
three they had just left. The room they were given
for the night had no window in it, was not properly
furnished, and appeared to have been used as a
minor store-room. In the sharp light of its two naked
white bulbs, they looked at one another, seeing in
each other’s eyes a growing and deepening despair,
a dread of the coming hours of night, and a mount-
ing vision of mountain peaks and desert valleys, of
fields and gardens, rivers and forests, little towns
and great cities, the whole familiar, stupid, beloved
world, already passing away; and now they did not
want to talk, but sat down, huddled together, on
packing-cases and piled sacks, listening to their
hearts, like time-pieces of rich curdling blood,
registering and ticking away the moments of Dooms-
day Eve.

*

CHAPTER TEN

DOOMSDAY— AND AFTERWARDS

I T was a morning no difiEerent from the others
they had lately enjoyed. Some great shadow, left
over from a night of terrible dreams, ought to
have darkened the earth; but there was no sign of
it. Lost Lake valley lay smiling under the bright
sun and the flawless azure of the sky; the peaks to
the west, in full light, glistened and shone, as if
crammed with precious stones and metals, and those
to the east, not yet facing the sun, wore plum-
coloured shadows; the yellow cottonwoods trembled
a little in the breeze; the distant sandy floor of the
valley began to shimmer; and the air was very sweet
and fresh, still with a cool sparkle in it. A few horses
and cattle stirred in the narrow pastures. Now and
then a red cardinal or a blue jay turned and flashed
above the mesquite or among the grim tangle of the
Joshua trees. Very high, one of the great birds of
prey lazily circled in the blue. The place looked
almost the same as usual. There had been no in-
vasion from a terrified world; no cars filled with
armed men tearing up the valley, or warplanes
roaring down from the distant sky. If the messages
to the broadcasting offices, last night, had been
handed to the people in charge, then those people
had merely laughed too, and may perhaps have
passed on the information to the editors of the news
service as a possible humorous little fill-up if they

49 $

294 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

should happen to be short of items. If any outsiders
had heard the news of the attempt and had taken
it seriously, then they had not heard it in time to set
out and arrive before the hour; which is not sur-
prising, because Lost Lake was very remote and hard
to reach. But a number of the brethren from the
Coast, driving all night, were already here, and were
now congregated on the hill-side, in small prayerful
groups, like others of their kind before them, in this
Western land, who had gone out to the hills to await
the end of the world. The only diflEerence was, as
Hooker grimly pointed out to his two companions,
as they too were taken up the hill-side, that whereas
those other groups of fanatical believers had vainly
looked for some miraculous piece of destruction,
these were privileged to be on the spot where it was
to be attempted. The two men who had been told
to watch Malcolm and his two friends had been
most formidably zealous, and even now, within half
an hour of the appointed time, were still watching
them, ready with their shot-guns. There had not
been the smallest chance of escape, and there was
none now. Other men, perhaps twenty altogether,
and also armed, were posted round the tower.

Malcolm, staring out of heavy hot eyes, saw all
three brothers now make their appearance on the
platform of the tower; and though it was several
hundred yards away, he could see that John was
wearing some kind of white robe. But where was
Andrea? He had not seen her, nor had any word
from her, since she left the music room last night.
Jimmy thought she must have been caught tele-
phoning, and have been locked up somewhere.
Malcolm kept staring from the tower to the house

DOOMSDAY— AND AFTERWARDS 295

itself in the hope of catching a glimpse of her. He
now saw that Henry and Paul MacMichael were no
longer on the tower platform, and Hooker muttered
that they must have gone below, where the great
electrical apparatus was housed. John, a clear figure
in his white robe, was now standing higher than he
had been before, and had obviously mounted a small
rostrum. To Malcolm’s astonishment, John’s voice
suddenly came booming out to them all on the hill-
side: he must be using a powerful loud-speaker.

“Kneel down,’’ the voice commanded, “and give
me your thoughts, for now I will pray.”

“I suppose we might as well too,” muttered
Hooker.

“I’ve done plenty of praying already,” said Jimmy
gloomily, “but a bit more won’t do me any harm.”

All the brethren, some of them already in a highly
emotional state, were kneeling, and even the guards
contrived a sort of compromise between prayer and
sentry-duty, by dropping down on one knee and
perhaps, as Malcolm could not help thinking, by
keeping only one eye open. Malcolm had reached
that queer exhausted condition in which a person
wants either to cry or to giggle and is not certain
which and swings idiotically between the two. But
now he knelt, like the others, and tried to shut his
ears and mind to what John was crying through the
loud-speaker and to pray to another and less venge-
ful God than the one John invoked, not some jealous
monster invented by fieice old Israelites who had
spent their lives fighting for waterholes in the burn-
ing desert, a torrible patriarch of the tribe, but a
patient and tolerant and infinitely wise Creator who
had known ages ago that man was foolish and slow

8g6 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

to leam and yet somehow gradually struggled up-
wards out of the slime. As he struggled to present
before his mind some image of this Creator, he felt
a sudden rush of somebody near him and then a
warm sweet neighbouring presence. It was Andrea.

“I did telephone last night,” she whispered, “but
it was awfully difficult and the man seemed all con-
fused— it was hard to make him understand but I
think he did in the end. But what can he do? Oh—
Malcolm— what can we do? And I know now how
wrong it’s all been.” She was terribly contrite.

“Never mind,” he whispered, very close to her
ear, and putting an arm round her as she knelt
beside him. “Are you frightened, Andrea?”

“Not much now, darling. It’s no longer quite real.
You’re real— and being out here in the sun with you
—that’s real. But not the rest of it.”

The high priest of the strange ceremony now tem-
porarily concluded his prayer and left them to their
meditations, which gave Malcolm a chance to tell
Jimmy what had happened.

“He’s probably spent the last twelve hours trying
to persuade people he’s not off his nut,” Jimmy said
mournfully. “And he’s not the right sort of chap
to do it. But who would be, with this packet to
handle? Even me— and I’ve seen it coming and been
damnably mixed up in it for days— even me— why, I
feel half barmy. It just can’t be true. He’ll give the
signal, and we’ll all wake up somewhere else.”

“If half of what he told me last night is true,”
said Hooker grimly, “and unless somebody manages
to interfere, there’ll be no waking up, unless it’s in
heaven.”

There were strange cries, half mournful, half

DOOMSDAY— AND AFTERWARDS 297

ecstatic, from the believers, for the most part simply-
dressed middle-aged men and women, huddled to-
gether on the hill-side. They terrified Andrea, and
rather frightened Mjilcolm, who began to talk to her
quickly; while Jimmy and Hooker, whom the cries
simply seemed to anger, glared across at the emo-
tional brethren,

“Blast ’em!” muttered Jimmy. “What a crowd to
go popping off with! And why didn’t I remember to
send a message by Charlie to Rosalie Atwood?”

“Who’s she, Mr, Edlin?” asked Andrea, who could
still be curious even on this doomsday morning. “I
think that man said something about her.”

“She and I sort of started in this business to-
gether,” .said Jimmy, “and if everybody’s going to go
off— bang!— then I wish to God she was here with
me, to see the finish of it together. There’s one grand
little woman.”

“Were you going to marry her?”

“That I don’t know,” he replied gloomily, “and
the less we talk about such things, it seems to me,
the better. What’s the use? And I thought Charlie
might have tried something, but they’ve probably
got him in a strait-jacket and a padded cell by now.”
But anxiously he searched the sky and listened for
some sign of poor old Bendy.

“It’s ten minutes of ten,” said Hooker, with a fine
appearance of being casual.

John MacMichael was now asking them to pray
with him again, for the last time, and all his
followers, with shouts and groans, threw themselves
down and put up their clasped worn hands. And the
sun still smiled out of a bright empty sky. Andrea
gripped and squeezed Malcolm’s hand until it hurt.

V

298 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

Hooker kept glancing ixom the tower to his watch.
Jimmy stared an^ily into the western blue.

“Let us now depart in peace, O Lord, from this
earth, which is altogether lost in evil, to a new
earth,” cried the voice from the tower, “an earth
that is another Eden straight from Thy hand, where
Thy word shall be fulfilled and we shall hunger no
more, neither thirst any more — ”

“Listen!” cried Jimmy. And as they listened, they
heard, cutting through the voice from the tower, the
sound of an approaching plane. They looked over
the western hills, from which the sound came, and
after a few moments the plane itself could be seen
making straight towards them at a high speed. Before
the prayer was ended, it had come roaring above the
valley.

“It’s Bendy,” shouted Jimmy, dancing with im-
patience. “Charlie, Charlie,” he yelled ineffectually
into the blue, waving like a madman, “for Pete’s
sake, do something, boy.”

But what could he do? John MacMichael, having
finished his prayer, gave a glance upwards, and then
obviously decided to ignore the intruder, though
they saw him descend for a moment from his
rostrum, presumably to call down to his brothers
below. But a moment later, he stood erect again, and
now raising his voice because the plane was circling
lower and making more noise, he asked them all to
ignore it, for it could do nothing, and implored
them to receive his blessing, for the hour had
arrived. The old biplane went circling round in an
unsteady bewildered fashion. Jimmy, joined now
by Hooker, was waving and shouting to it, and the
two armed men near them were uneasily dividing

DOOMSDAY— AND AFTERWARDS 299

their time between theii charges, whom they were
telling to be quiet, and the approaching plane,
which they threatened, as ineffectually as Jimmy had
shouted to it, with their guns.

The white figure on the tower now raised its two
arms high, and at the sight of this first solemn warn-
ing, the watching crowd of brethren, most of them
still huddled together on their knees, gave a shout.

The plane turned and rose, as if its pilot had
decided there was nothing he could do and was
leaving them. Though Jimmy and Malcolm and
Hooker could not have said what they had expected
the plane to do, yet now their hearts sank, and
Jimmygroaned. “Oh— Charlie— boy— for God’s sakel’’

Again, the white figure raised its arms, very high
this time, and the responding cries of the crowd were
louder still. And now Malcolm felt terribly afraid,
and held Andrea, who had suddenly turned to bury
her face in his shoulder, closely to him, praying hard
that the vast coming terror would not find him a
gibbering coward. But the plane was not leaving
them. It had swung round sharply, with a sudden
accelerated roar, then shot down like a great projec-
tile. Poor Charlie Atwood, who had performed so
many stunts for meagre pay, now did his last stunt
for nothing, and perhaps saved the world. He sent
old Bendy crashing into the nearest pylon, and as
she splintered and flamed and he went to his death,
the cables parted. No more electric current was
flowing into the tower.

Nevertheless, high above the burning wreckage,
the white figure still raised its arms, to give the final
signal, ignoring the confusion and tumult below.
As the arms fell, it seemed as if the earth gave a

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

300

shiver and then split. All the watchers were struck
down as if by a hammer; the air went screaming
above their prone bodies; the ground shuddered
and heaved; and only half-conscious now they heard
dimly the earthquake thunder of toppling buildings.
It was indeed like the end of the world.

Yet after some moments, which in their fear, dark-
ness and utter confusion could not be reckoned by
ordinary time, one after another they lifted their
aching heads, and looked to see what had happened.
The tower had vanished; the house itself was a ruin;
and the steep slope behind was scarred and fissured,
and still seemed to smoke like a battlefield A vast
cloud of dust was rising slowly above the head of
the valley. The sky was thick and yellowed The air
was hard to breathe. From the ruins there came
licking out a long thin tongue of flame, and now in
the terrible silence, like that which accompanies a
deeply ironic stare, they could hear the crackling of
fire. Malcolm and Andrea, Jimmy and Hooker were
shaken but not hurt, and those near them were also
uninjured. But some of the brethren farther along
the hill-side were still lying motionless. One of the
guards who had been posted near the tower could
be seen crawling out of the wreckage, bleeding as he
came. Most of the others must have been killed
The three MacMichaels were buried in the ruins
of their tower.

It was then as if the world, which had laughed at
the warning messages of last night, was suddenly
awakened by the final crash itself, or the air that had
fled screaming from the valley had carried with it
rumours of catastrophe; for within a few hours
planes filled with reporters, cameramen, radio and

DOOMSDAY— AND AFTERWARDS gOl

news-film commentators, and the like, were roaring
and circling over the rums, and a host of cars were
burning up the road through Barstow, which, dis-
tant though it was from the actual scene, now became
the headquarters of the news campaign and found
itself suddenly famous. All that night the world
stared at its headlines and listened to its broadcast
news in wonder and amazement that were clouded
witli a new apprehension. A shudder of fear went
through the world as the commentators drew vivid
and largely imaginary pictures of the narrow escape
everybody had just had, as distinguished scientists,
dragged out of their quiet sane laboratories into the
shrieking arena of big news, talked of this possibility
and that, as photographs of the ruined remote valley
went jerkily across a myriad screens to the accom-
paniment of shouting voices explaining what had
been attempted and what might have happened,
those voices so hot with human interest and yet so
strangely inhuman in their amplified mechanical ex-
citement. Now that they were dead and gone, the
three MacMichaels suddenly cast shadows that
stretched menacingly across whole continents and
oceans. Their sinister biographies blackened in-
numerable columns Dubious dots to represent their
faces were flashed from capital to capital. Thus as
the arch-criminals of our time they towered while
what remained of them on earth still lay beneath
their own ruined tower. To end the world?
Millions of men and women stared at each other,
their minds busy with crashing images of destruc-
tion. For an hour or two, clouded by this vision of
what might have been, the producers forgot to blame
the distributors; the distributors forgave both pro-

308 THE DOOMSPAY MEN

ducers and consumers; the industrialists and the
bankers were at one; the farmers stopped disliking
the city folks; men who worked in black coats made
common cause with men who worked in overalls;
associations of employers made light of trade unions;
capitalist and proletarian remembered they shared
the same earth; fascists and communists w'ere
haunted by the same vision; patriotic imperialists
failed to salute the battle-torn flags waving above
their dividends; foreign secretaries neglected the
drafted agreements that nobody intended to keep;
the Class Struggle, the Red Menace, the Fascist Will,
the Jewish Problem, the German Destiny, the
Failure of the New Deal, the Decadence of Britain,
Japan Over Asia, Italy Over Africa, Stalin Over
Russia, the Threat to Democracy, the Decay of
Liberalism, the Collapse of Civilisation, all were
temporarily forgotten, and for a few hours all the
currents of prejudice and mistrust and fear and hate
were dammed behind one gigantic barrier, and
though men were haunted by this one dark vision
of doomsday, somehow for that little time they
breathed a larger and nobler air. It did not last long,
of course, for we live in an eventful age and have a
magnificent news service, and so, flinging a few last
curses at the memory of those three insane brothers
who had tried to destroy the world at one stroke,
men returned to their ordinary tasks and thoughts,
perhaps to destroy the world piece by piece.

Towards the end of that insane day, which re-
mained just as much a nightmare after the world
had discovered that it was not to be destroyed,
Andrea and the three friends fled from the scene,
now rapidly turning into a vast garbage heap, lit by

DOOMSDAY— AND AFTERWARDS 3O3

photographers’ flash-lights and raked through by
newspapermen. Jimmy had had a bright idea, and
packing them into Andrea’s big car had driven them
himself, as fast as he could go along those narrow
roads, with much blinding traffic coming into the
valley, and with many stops when he was not sure
of the way, over the dark mountains and under the
■wide glitter of stars, to another remote valley and a
little ranch there, where there was as yet no hostess
to look after them. But they were all still dazed
and completely exhausted, and throwing themselves
do'wn anywhere they slept and slept, and were hardly
fully awake when Mrs. Atwood herself arrived in the
middle of the following afternoon. And there they
stayed, telling their stories over and over again,
under the peaceful sky, for many days. Mrs. Atwood,
brighter of eye than ever, for even when she remem-
bered Charlie her eyes were bright with tears, tears
of pride as well as of sorrow, fussed happily over
them; and she made Andrea, who was very quiet,
very mournful, these days, and even kept aloof from
the bewildered and unhappy Malcolm, answer all
her questions so that the girl could not imprison
herself in her silent brooding. Malcolm wandered
and wondered about the place, a pale, gloomy,
handsome young man, asking himself what was to
be done next. Jimmy and Hooker, sent off with
smiles and nods by their hostess, mysteriously de-
parted for Barstow and, after that, Los Angeles, to
return ■with Jimmy’s baggage and a host of things
for the others at the ranch.

Now it was the morning after they had returned,
a late October morning as clean as a new pin, ■with
the little valley all smiling and the hills all sparkling

304 the doomsday men

and winking. Jimmy had gone off by himself in
good time, taking his easel and paint-box to a little
rocky knoll overlooking the ranch-house. Hooker
was sprawling in a deck-chair under one of the
cottonwoods, but not idling, for he never lifted his
eyes from the notebook he held, a notebook that
never seemed out of his hand now. Malcolm, becom-
ing desperate, had implored Andrea to come into
the sunshine with him and she had at last agreed,
after being strongly urged to go by Mrs. Atwood,
who pretended that she could do nothing round the
place if they did not leave her to herself in the morn-
ings, but seemed to be more full of smiles and nods
and little secrets than ever. Ihdeed, when the lovers
had gone, she appeared to be curiously expectant
and kept looking down the road through the valley.
She also took quite a number of peeps at Mr. Edlin,
who could just be seen painting away on the hill-
side, but when she looked in that direction, the
smiles and nods vanished, and it appeared then as
if she were a bit anxious and a bit disappointed and
in general rather puzzled by and dissatisfied with
the distant Jimmy, so entirely absorbed up there.

Slowly leaving the ranch-house, Andrea and
Malcolm came up to Hooker under his tree. “What
are you doing. Hooker?” asked Malcolm, with that
touch of irritation often felt by the idle for the
deeply employed.

Before Hooker, coming out of his mathematical
dream, could reply, Andrea looked hard at the note-
book he was holding. “I’m nearly sure my uncle used
to have that kind.”

Hooker blinked a little. “This was one of your
uncle’s,” he mumbled, looking rather shamefaced.

DOOMSDAY— AND AFTERWARDS 305

“I don’t know if you remember, but I managed to
get into his room, before the fire had reached that
end of the house, and though it was all smashed up,
I salvaged three of these notebooks of his. I’m try-
ing to follow his tracks, because he only dropped a
hint or two, that last night, about what he’d dis-
covered. I haven’t got fairly on to them yet, but
these notes of his look dandy to me. I never liked
him, I guess, but— say, he was a great physicist.”

“I’ve never asked before— though I suppose you’re
tired of talking about it,” said Andrea, hesitantly,
“but why was it such a failure then?”

“He was too rushed. That’s the first thing. I don’t
know why,” said Hooker thoughtfully, “though I
might when I’ve been through these notebooks, but
he felt compelled to hurry it on too quickly at the
end. And then, of course, the current being cut off
at the last moment, that upset all his calculations.
What really happened, down there under the tower
and way back under the hill itself, we don’t know
yet, but as soon as they’ve cleaned it up a bit on the
surface, I’m going to have a look. I’ve been given
permission, officially, to investigate. That’s why I’m
concentrating on these notebooks. And— boy— are
we going to have something to tell ’em! Here, sorry,
Andrea— I oughtn’t to be talking this way, I guess,
to you,” he concluded lamely.

Andrea shook her head and smiled rather wanly,
then she and Malcolm walked slowly across the tiny
pasture towards the hill away from the road and
opposite to that on which Jimmy was sitting. They
never noticed the little cloud of dust moving up the
valley, and if they heard the distant sound of a car
they were not sufficiently curious about it to turn

3o6 the doomsday men

round. But now they had begun to talk, after several
despairing appeals from Malcolm, and as they talked
they wandered towards a tiny clump of box-elder
trees, which were almost as white and dusty above
as the strange and ghostly desert holly scattered on
the valley floor, but which seemed still to cast a
friendly green shade. And here in this shade, they
stopped.

“You see,” said Andrea miserably, “I can’t marry
you. I couldn’t marry anybody, but anyhow that’s
not the point because I don’t want to. No, it’s not
because of all the horrible talk and fuss, which I
suppose may go on for ages. That’s bad enough, but
it isn’t that.”

“Well, what is it then?” cried Malcolm. “Is it—
something about me?”

“No, you idiot, how could it be?” she cried,
smiling for once. “It’s me. Don’t you see, my— those
three— as everybody says now— must have been mad.
All three. And I believe my grandfather was queer
too — ”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Malcolm sturdily.
“You’re not off your head, except at this minute, and
you’re never going to be.”

“You can’t tell. And everybody knows that it runs
in families. Even if I’m all right, suppose we— I— had
some children— and they began to be queer?”

“You know,” said Malcolm gently, following his
own thought and not hers, perhaps deliberately,
“those three— I suppose they were mad in a way—
they’d got shut up inside themselves — ”

“As you tell me I do,” she put in, hastily.

“No, not like that. They had somehow got them-
selves all shut in, so that they could only see every-

DOOMSDAY— AN» AFTERWARDS 307

thing from one point of view— I mean, they were
different among themselves, of course, but each just
saw everything from his own point of view— but
there was a kind of grandeur— a sort of nobility—
about them, quite different from ordinary lunatic
stuff.”

“There you go, you see— even you— talking about
lunatic stuff. And whatever you may say, I’m one
of them. One of them was my father— that seems
very strange now, but after all it’s true— and the
otlier two were my uncles.”

She looked at him mournfully, and he tried to
take it easily and smile but somehow he couldn’t.
And there they stood, dumb and frustrated, in the
middle of the shining day. They were silent for
some time, just staring at each other, with the same
melancholy little troop of thoughts going round and
round in their heads.

“No, Malcolm, it’s hopeless, I seem to have been
saying that about one thing or another ever since we
first met. But there it is. Still hopeless. However
much I may pretend, or you pretend for me, I’m a
MacMichael.’

“Hey, what’s that you’re saying?”

They swung round, and were surprised, rather
annoyed. 'The intruder came up cheerfully,

“Hello, Mr. Mitchell,” said Andrea, without en-
thusiasm, though trying to be friendly, “how do you
come to be here?”

“Oh!— I just wandered along,” said the bearded
man, who still wore the same disreputable garments
and the same surprising air of distinction in them.
“Hallo, young man! You both seem to have re-
covered from your adventure pretty well. But now.

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

308

young woman, I know I shouldn’t ask and it’s the
height of bad manners and tactlessness, but would
you mind repeating what you just said to this not
very cheerful young man?”

“If you must know,” said Andrea, not snubbing
him unpleasantly, however, but rather as if she were
showing poor Malcolm the strength of mind she had
in the presence of this comparative stranger, “I was
telling him I couldn’t marry him because I’m a
MacMichael.”

“Is that the only reason?” asked Mr. Mitchell, who
appeared to think it amusing.

“Golly— yes, of course,” she replied in a sort of
fine confused mixture of enthusiasm, tenderness and
misery.

“Then go ahead, because, you see, you’re not a
MacMichael.”

“What?” And they shouted it together.

“You’re not a MacMichael. You were Henry
MacMichael’s step-daughter, not his own daughter.
And your name’s really MitcheU.”

“But you’re — ”

“No, I’m not your father, if that’s what you were
going to say. I wish I was. I’m merely your uncle,
your father’s brother. He died two years ago, in
Peru. His name was Scott Mitchell— like me, a
mining engineer. You see, my dear, we both wanted
to marry your mother, whom we’d known since we
were boys, and he— well, he was the lucky one,
though poor Scott was never lucky long. He was a bit
wild, never kept a dollar, and not long after you
were bom, your mother left him. I took Scott away,
had to do something with him. There was a divorce,
and then, while you were still a baby, Henry

DOOMSDAY— AND AFTERWARDS 509

MacMichael became your step-father and insisted
upon giving you his name. If your mother had
lived, well she’d probably have told you herself—
but she didn’t, and then there was nobody to tell
you. My brother, who’d had dealings with the
MacMichaels before and didn’t like them or their
methods, wouldn’t come back here at all. But he
knew Fd be coming back— and he asked me— it was
about the last thing he ever said to me— to see what
was happening to you, though I’d have done that
without being asked. I’ve some things of his— old
photographs and so on— that you’d probably like to
have. And that,” he turned suddenly to Malcolm,
in order to leave Andrea to herself a moment, “ex-
plains a little urgent conversation you and I had
last week, not far from Jubilee Pass.”

“I tried to act on your advice then,” said Malcolm
happily, “and I’m still going to act on it.”

“I’ll leave you to get on with it,” said Mr.
Mitchell, twinkling away, and after giving Andrea a
new avuncular smile, he showed them the very
creased and stained back of his disreputable jacket,
as he took it and himself back to the ranch-house,
out of which a very impatient Mrs. Atwood, almost
dancing with curiosity, suddenly appeared. But she
did not remain long with Mr. Mitchell. After firmly
introducing him to Hooker, and compelling that
long lean young man to emerge from his notebook
and be sociable, she tripped up the hill, ostensibly
to tell Jimmy Edlin the news. On the way there she
told herself not to be a silly woman, that she’d no
right to feel disappointed with Jimmy, that they
were all good friends and what more could she
expect, and much more stuff of the same kind. And

310 THE DOOMSDAY MEN

there he was, painting away like a real artist, his pipe
stuck in his mouth but no smoke coming out of it,
his broad face very red and moist, his eyes screwed
up comically, an entirely unromantic figure to every
possible person in the world except one. But she
was remembering, though she didn’t want to at this
particular moment, and felt it was downright tire-
some of her to do so, the terrible afternoon— and
who could believe it was only a week ago?— when he
had put her in that plane beside poor Charlie and
remained behind himself. Unromantic figure in-
deedl Just the right age and size and shape of a man'

Jimmy had nearly finished his picture of the
ranch, and it might as well be said at once that it
was one of his more characteristic creations, a
genuine horror in pigment, which fiimly set the
ranch and its valley in the very centre of some
metallic hell, with acid greens and poisonous pinks
and yellows that were like acute attacks of bilious
headache. He glanced up from this monster to the
approaching Rosalie Atwood, who was looking more
of a bright-eyed peach than ever, and took his pipe
out of his mouth to give her a grin; but it was, she
noticed at once, an anxious grin, and she wondered
unhappily if she was a nuisance.

Before she could speak, however, he got up and
stepped back a few paces and beckoned her to his
side, so that she would see the canvas from a proper
distance.

“Well,” he said hoarsely, “what do you think of
it?”

But he had hardly time to ask before she was ex-
claiming, obviously without any need of prompting:
“Why, Jimmy, it’s lovely.”

DOOMSDAY— AND AFTERWARDS 3 1 1

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course I do,” she told him indignantly. “Why
shouldn’t I? It’s really beautiful. I never imagined
you could do anything like that.” And she moved
away a few steps, to look at it from another
angle.

Great Christopher, what a woman! He moved
across to her masterfully. “If )Ou like that, what
about this, Rosalie?”

“I like that too,” she cried, as best she could, for
there was not much room, so masterfully had she
been enfolded. “And here’s one for you. No, no,
please, Jimmy. Let me go. No more now. Yes, of
course I do, you silly. But let me go— somebody’s
coming.” There wasn’t, but now she was free, and
stood at a reasonably safe distance, and tried to look
reproachful. “A nice way to behave!” But she
couldn’t stop her eyes dancing at him. “What do
you think you’re doing, Jimmy?”

Jimmy put on one of his more aggressive looks.
“Finishing this pictuie, and when it’s done, you’ll
have it and you’ll like it. And then, you’ll marry me
and you’ll like it.”

“Jimmy! And did I tell you about Andrea and
Malcolm — ?”

“No, but I can see them down there, thinking
they’re in the garden of Eden. And I can see Hooker
getting all excited explaining something to that chap
with the beard. And I know you’re there, just burst-
ing to ask me fifty thousand questions — ”

“Well, who wouldn’t be?”

“And,” continued Jimmy firmly, “I’m not bother-
ing my head about any of you for the next ten
minutes. I’ve had my adventures. The world’s not

THE DOOMSDAY MEN

312

done with yet. We’re still alive and kicking. So just
be quiet while I finish this job.”

But he gave her a wink, and she replied with a
smile, and as he returned to his painting, she stared
dreamily down at the other four below, at the quiet
valley trembling in the heat of noon, at the peaks
of enduring rock, shining in the sunlight.

THE END

1

AIDE-dc-CAMP’S LIBRARY

Accn, No

1. Books may be retained for a period not
exceeding fifteen days.